Against his foes, let traytors falling grone
Beneath his sword, that do aspire his throne:
But cease my words, death doth my breath exhale,
Adue my liege, I die, my life doth faile.”
91.
This said, he slept in death, yet neuer sleepes
The fame of his admired loyaltie,
Seal’d with his blood, record for euer keepes,
His name a mirror of true constancie
To his liege lord for all posteritie: