That staynd his fayth, and faylde me at my neede,
For gayne of golde, as vsurers do God knowes,
Who cannot spare the dropping of their nose?
I should haue slayne the slaue that seru’d me so,
O God forbid my hands were brued in blood,
Should I desire the harme of friend or foe?
Nay better were to wishe mine en’my good:
For if my death I throughly vnderstood,
I should make short the course I haue to run,
Since rest is got when worldly toyle is done.