When _Britayne_ was restlesse, wanting a Kyng, (For _Forrex_ and _Porrex_ the Princes were slayne)[567] The land many peeres ambitious did wring, Endeuouring each the kingdome to gayne. The heires good apparent forsake it were fayne, The subiects were armed, wee nobles did striue, At length we amongst vs deuision contriue. 4. Then recklesse wee were when all was at rest, And each had a kingdome aloted his part: The vice of the subjects dayly increast, And justice and right were layd quite apart. The lawes ouerlashed by couine and craft, And wee that did gouerne did winke at this geare: The worser, perdy, our faythed frends were.[568] 5. The ball that dame Fortune emparteth of blisse Is golden to gaze on, but voluble round: If once of your handfast in holding you misse, Away then it roleth, and you are on grounde. Of watchers thereon so many abounde, And catchers thereat, with snatching therefore, That if once you leese it, you catch it no more. 6. A Chirurgian that taketh a wounde for to cure, If skilfull and carefully hee sercheth it furst: The sea man doth sounde to take the deepth sure, Ay wisedome well taught for feare of the worst. But our vile ambition, blinde, blockish, accurst, Not prouing the sore, nor reckoning the sounde, Our shippes and our science we sinke and confounde. 7. Ambition out sercheth to glory the greece, The staire to estate, the graple of grace: But in her is hidde of perill a peece, Which all our attempts doth dimme and deface. Perdy shee gets vs vaine ioyes[569] but a space, Short, britle as glasse: false fayre giueing light: Not golden, though glittering braue in the sight. 8. For when see hath brought vs vnto the throne, And Fortune hath fraught vs with honour at fill: Then there to sit stedy and rule all alone Wee racke our deuices, and scud with our scill. Wee cutt off occursions, wee prole, pole, and pill: Wee bolster, wee band out, to brybe, banish, sley, The pillers of prudence that prop[570] in our wey. 9. Our race is then restles, our sleeping vnsounde: Our wakeing is warfare, our walkeing hath woe: Our talkeing is trustless, our cares doe abound: Our fauners deemde faythfull, and frendshippe a foe. Which troubles our fancies so tosse to and froe. That scarcely wee neuer inioy any rest Tormented, whome Fortune exalted and blest. 10.