That thou for silence now to me shalt be the pray.
¶ O Blessed God most iust, whose worthy laude and prayse
With vttered speach in Skies a loft I dare not once to rayse,
And may not well pronounce and speak what suffrance I sustain,
Ne yet what death I do indure, whiles I in lyfe remayne,
Take vengeance on that traytresse rude, afflict hir corps with woe
Thy holy arme redresse hir fault, that she no more do soe:
My reason hath not so farre strayed but I may hope and trust
To see hir for hir wickednes, be whipt with plague most iust.
In the meane while great heauines my sence and soule doth bite,