As he three yeares his people did oppresse, Then they whose backe that burden coulde not beare, With one consent they did his state distresse, To reaue him of his crowne they did not feare, They him desposde from honour and renowne: His hateful happe so frowardly did frowne, That he who had a kingdome but of late, Forlorne he nowe must begge from gate to gate. 6. Doo nothing muse at his deserued happe, For many more as he their liues haue led: _Ioue’s_ vengeance iust such wretches dooth inwrappe With change most strange, when he their blood will shed: Of _Dionise_ of _Syracusia_, Of _Neroe’s_ death of _Phalaris_ decay, Who list to reade, he passing plaine shal finde, That he of heauen their sorrow hath assignde. 7. And out of doubte God did ordayne the fal Of him, whom here I headlesse haue in hand, Who wandring in a wood amidst his thral I mette by chaunce, of whom I did demaund His name, and place: who thus replide with feare: “O friende, I am for meate nowe staruen wel neare, Giue me therefore I thee beseech and pray Some meate to keepe my carkasse from decay.” 8. Some pilgrime poore, or wayfaring man him straight I iudgde, and gaue him what my scrippe would yeelde; And whilst we both thus on a banke dyd baite, From sighes and sobbes himselfe he coulde not wielde, Which made me aske agayne his name and place, But silent he did mourne with frowning face: Yet at the last by vrging too and fro, He thus declarde the cause of al his woe. 9. “O miser I, more wretch then thee by much, I neuer coulde compare with thine estate, This hearde of swine against thee neuer grutch; I kept a hearde, which did their heardman hate, A hateful heard of murmuring men I meane, Which dyd depriue me of my[1215] honour cleane: And now I leade my lothsome life you see, Impalde amidste a maze of misery. 10. “With chaunged chaunce (aye me) I chased am, And frowning fate such sorrowe hath assignde, That lothing life, most like a quiet lambe, My naked necke to blocke of bale I binde: With cruell knife (O care) come shread my twist, So shall my soule by corps decay be blist: But sith that care nor fate wil doo this deed, Doo thou the same I thee beseech, with speede. 11.