Who more[1373] mischieuously of all states[1374] deserue, As better they, who such did first[1375] preserue:[1376] If those, for giftes,[1377] wee recken heauenly wightes, These may wee well deeme fendes and damned sprites: And while on earth they walke, disguised deuils, Sworne foes of vertue, factours for all euils: Whose bloudy handes torment theyr goared hartes, Through bloudsheds horrour, in soundest sleepe he sterts. 32. O happy world, were the lyons men, All lyons should at least be spared then: No surety now, no lasting league is bloud, A meacocke is,[1378] who dreadth to see bloudshed: Stale is the paterne, the fact must needes be rife:[1379] While ii. were armyes: ii. the issues of first wife, With armed heart and hand, the one bloudy brother With cruell chase pursueth and murdereth the other. 33. Which who defieth[1380] not? yet who ceaseth to sue? The bloudy _Caynes_ theyr bloudy sire renew: The horrour yet is like in common frayes: For in ech murther, brother brother slayes: Traytours to nature, countrey, kin and kinde, Whome no bond serueth in brother’s zeale[1381] to bynde: O simple age, when slaunder slaughter was, The tongue’s small euill, how doth this mischiefe passe. 34. Hopest thou to cloake couert thy[1382] mischiefe wrought? Thy conscience, caytife, shall proclayme thy thought: A vision, _Chaucer_ sheweth, discloasd[1383] thy crime: The foxe descry the crowes and chattering pyen: And shall thy felow felons not bewray The guiltles death, whome guilty handes doe slay? Unpunisht scapt for haynous cryme someone, But vnauengde, in minde or body, none. 35. Vengeaunce on my[1384] mynd, the freating furies take: The sinfull coarse, lyke earthquake agewes shake: Their frouning lookes, theyr frounced[1385] myndes bewray: In hast they runne, and mids their race they stay, As gidded roe: amids their speach they whist, At meate they muse, noe where they may persist, But some feare netleth them: ay, hang they soe, Soe neuer wants[1386] the wicked murthrer woe. 36. An infant rent with lyon’s ramping pawes? Why slaunder I lyons? they feare the sacred lawes Of princes[1387] bloud: ay mee, more brute then beast, With princes[1388] sides, _Lycaon’s_ pye to feast? O tyrant tigers, O insatiable[1389] wolues, O _English_ curtesie, monstrous mawes and gulfes: My death shall forthwith preach my earned meede, Yf fyrst to one lyke murther I proceede.[1390] 37.