These words hee spake vnto the standers by,
“With sad farewell my soueraigne I doe greet,
In whose defence against his foes, though I
In death triumphant ouer death do die,
Yet brother’s treason wounds my heart with woe,
For which with griefe vnto my graue I goe.
90.
Yee powers of heauen, on whose dispose diuine
The gift of conquest doth depend alone,
Let our dread king in battaile victor shine