Her thoughts with endlesse torment doth oppresse,
Her woes of other’s welfare do proceed,
Ne euer is she seene to laugh, vnlesse
At lucklesse hap of other’s ill successe;
For other’s happinesse her woe doth bring,
And all her ill from other’s good doth spring.
43.
To this foule helhound from that blood built towne,
Which Tybur’s siluer armes doe round imbrace,
Blind error came, where truth was troden downe,