Not so contented were wee with the pray: But fearing lest shee should recouer ayde, I sent in hast to prison her away, And all recourse of messengers denayd. Thus when shee sawe her Maiesty decayd, And that her griefes and sorowes daily grew, In pryson at the length her selfe shee slewe. 10. O caytife vile, should I constrain’d a Queene,[510] That Iustice ment, her kingdome to forsake? Nay traytour I, her cause of death haue bene,[511] That would my selfe by bloudshed ruler make. How could reuenge on mee but vengeaunce take? Before the seat of God her bloud did call For vengeaunce still, and so procur’d[512] my fall. 11. Lo here God’s iustice see, my treason see: Behold and see, to raygne was my delight: And marke, and make a mirrour here of mee, Which afterward was seru’d by iustice right. Wee wan the crowne betweene vs both in fight: And then because I was the elder sonne Of th’elder Queene, I claymed all wee wonne. 12. So were my dealings nought in peace and warre: But by my force and fortunes v’sd in fight, I past, that time, the _Britaynes_ all by farre: I was of person, fortitude, and might, Both comely, tall, strong, seemely eke in sight, Whereby I wonne mens fauoure, glory, wealth And, puft with pride, at length forgate my selfe. 13. I sayd it was my right the crowne to haue But _Conidagus_ stoutly it deni’d: Wherefore I went to _Wales_, my ryght to craue, With all mine army, and to haue it tri’d. Where long wee fought it stoutly on eche side, Till at the last, vnto my woefull payne, I was depriu’d of Kingdome quite, and slayne. 14. And for to keepe in memory for aye That there vnfaythfull _Morgan_ lost his life, The place is cal’d _Glamorgan_ to this daye.[513] There was I perst to death with fatall knife: There was the end of all my hatefull strife. So _Morgan_, where hee thought to winne the Crowne, Was at _Glamorgan_ traytour striken downe. 15. Thus mayst thou tell how proude ambition proues, What hap haue tyraunts, what wee Traytours haue: What end hee hath that cruell dealing loues, What subiects get the[514] Diademe doe craue. Tis better, then to winne, thine owne to saue: For so orethwartly trade of Fortune goes, When win thou would’st, then art thou sure to lose.[515] LENUOY. 1.