My fall and facte makes proofe of that is spoke, Tels world to much of shadowes in the sunne, Dust blowne with winde, or simple proofe of smoake, That flies from fire and fast throwe aire doth run: It ends with woe that was with joy begun: It turnes to teares that first began with sport: At length long paine finds pleasure was but short. 61. As long as lyfe remaynde in _Edward’s_ brest, Who was but I? who had such frends at call? His body was no sooner put in chest, But well was hee[1991] that could procure my fall: His brother was myne enmye most of all, Protectour then, whose vice did still abound, From yll to worse tyll death did him confound. 62. Hee falsely faynde[1992] that I of counsell was To poyson him, which thing I neuer ment, But hee could set thereon a face of brasse, To bring to passe his lewde and false entent: To such mischiefe this tyrant’s heart was bent, To God, ne man, hee neuer stoode in awe, For in his wrath hee made his will a lawe. 63. Lord _Hastings’_ bloude for vengeaunce on him cryes, And many moe, that were to long to name, But most of all, and in most woefull wise, I had good cause this wretched man to blame: Before the worlde I suffred open shame, Where people were as thicke as is the sand, I penaunce tooke, with taper in my hand.[1993] 64. Each eye did stare and looke mee in the face, As I past by the rumours on mee ran, But patience then had lent mee such a grace, My quyet lookes were praysde of euery man: The shamefast bloud brought me such coulour than, That thousands sayde, which sawe my sober chere, It is great ruth to see this woman here. 65. But what preuaylde the people’s pitie there? This raging wolfe would spare no giltless blood: Oh wicked wombe that such ill fruit did beare, Oh cursed earth, that yeeldeth forth such mud: The hell consume all things that did thee good, The heauens shut their gates agaynst thy spreete, The world tread downe thy glory vnder feete. 66. I aske of God a vengeaunce on thy bones, Thy stinking corps corrupts the ayre I knowe: Thy shamefull death no earthly wight bemones, For in thy lyfe thy workes were hated so, That euery man did wish thy ouerthroe: Wherfore I may, though parciall now I am, Curse euery cause whereof thy body came. 67.