How restlesse are the peeres aloft would ryse? How vncontented are theyr hauty myndes? How quiet is the simple setled wise, Whom no desire of proud ambition blyndes? I see no ease the seeke-throne thirsty findes. Hee seekes all meanes to clime to catch the crowne, Till for his haste _Ioue_ hurle him headlong downe. 2. The royall borne by birth, the time should stay Till iust _Iehoua_ gaue to him the place: And not the Lordes anoynted seeke to slay, But as his Soueraigne serue him well the space. If hee with bloud his noble birth abace, I meane if hee by slaughter catch the crowne, With foote _Iehoua_ castes him headlong downe. 3. If _Morgan_ hadnot wrought his aunt’s distresse By dint of sword, by sword hee had not fell. But who so shall by sword a Prince oppresse, Shall of the sword therefore and slaughter smell. Lo here the next, that came his tale to tell, Was gieuen to vice when once hee ware the crowne, Till slouth and sleepy sickenes cast hym downe. How King Iago dyed of the Lethargy, about the yeare before Christ, 612.[516] 1. Have I oreslept my selfe, or am I wake? Or hadst thou late oreslept thy selfe that wrote? Could’st thou not for the Letharge paynes to take: And with the rest his sleepy life to note? Was I amongst the wicked wights forgote? Well then, awaked sith wee are both twayne, To write my sleepy sinfull life take payne. 2. I am that _Iago_, once of _Britayne_ King, That ruled all this noble _Britishe_ Ile: No fame of mee the writers old doe bring, Because my life and gouernement was vile. Yet, _Higgins_, heere take paynes for mee a while: Enregester my mirour to remaine, That Princes may my vices vile refrayne. 3. At first, a while, I ruled well the land, I vsed Iustice, right tooke regall place: No wight but found iust iudgement at my hand, And truth durst shew, without rebuke, her face. I gaue my selfe to all good giftes of grace, My subiects liu’d in rest within my raygne, No cause of Prince compeld them to complaine. 4. But as in calme a storme wee nothing feare, When as the Seas are milde and smoth as glasse: And as in peace no thought of warres wee beare, Which least suppose of mischeeues come to passe: Euen so my still and rightfull raygning was. The calme a tempest boads: the shine, a raine: Long peace, a warre: and pleasure, pinching paine. 5.