As hunger-steru’d to flesh my iawes in blood I readie toothed came, as who would say, Nature by signes vnto the world hath show’d How fiercely he shall bite another day, That in his mother’s wombe well toothed lay, And maruaile ’twas, seeing viper-like he came, He was not borne by death of his owne damme. 6. If like a cunning painter on a frame My shape vnto the world I could descrie, And with a curious pensell paint the same In perfect colours, each spectatour’s eie Would by my lookes into my manners prie: The bodie’s ill-shapte limbes are oft defin’d, For signes of euill manners in the mind. 7. Little I was, and of a small compact, My left side shoulder higher then the right, Both crooked were, and therewithall contract Into my backe, so that in all men’s sight I did appeare a most mishapen wight: And hard it was to iudge, if that my soule Or limbes ill fashion’d feature were more foule. 8. The deeds of noble _Yorke_ I not recite, Done in those fatall daies of miserie, Nor tell th’euents of euery speciall fight, As at Saint Albones, Bloreheath, Banburie, Northhampton, Barnet, Wakefield, Teukesburie, Seeing they are often spoken of before, By those, that heere their wofull falles deplore. 9. Th’induction to my storie shall begin Where the sixth _Henrie’s Edward_ timelesse fell: Sonne to stout _Margaret_ that noble queene, Of whom since heere no poet’s pen doth tell: Though hee a peerelesse prince deserue it well, In breefe we will describe the manner all Of our sterne deede and his vnhappie fall. 10. His mother queene, the manlike _Margaret_, After so many a fall in fight cast downe, With her young _Edward_ and stout _Somerset_ Did lastly hazard all for England’s crowne In fight at Teukesburie: but heau’n did frowne, _Wenlocke_ and _Somerset_ fled both away, Left vs the field, and lost their queene the day. 11. The forlorne prince was taken as he fled By _Richard Crofts_, a knight of Glostershire, Who hearing of the proclamation spread, That, who could bring him forth, should, for his hire, Duely receiue a hundred poundes by yeere: The prince he brought to end our ancient strife, With promise made, that we should saue his life. 12.