That foul defacer of God’s handiwork,
[♦] That excellent grand tyrant of the earth,
That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls,
[♦] Thy womb let loose, to chase us to our graves.
55 O upright, just, and true-disposing God,
[♦] How do I thank thee, that this carnal cur
Preys on the issue of his mother’s body,
[♦] And makes her pew-fellow with others’ moan!
[♦] Duch. O Harry’s wife, triumph not in my woes!
[60] God witness with me, I have wept for thine.