Here heauen did smile on me with gracious looke, And fortune put faire conquest in my hand, On bald occasion hold I might haue tooke And thence-forth freed the subiects of my land From seruile yoke of forraine king’s command: But what we purpose heauen doth still decree, In vaine we wish what heauen wils not to bee. 41. The treacherous duke, the faithlesse man at armes, Ignoble _Edrick_ thus did counsell mee: “My liege,” quoth he, “we hazard now more harmes In pursuit of the flying enemie, Then earst we did before the victorie, ’Tis best we sound retreate and fall to spoile, Of these dead foes vpon the sandie soile. 42. Your men, though bold, yet wearied with the fight, Be faint, and fortune may the foes so grace, That they, constrain’d with desperate feare from flight To backward death againe to turne their face, May charge our troopes disordered in the chace: Distraction heartens feare in desperate deeds, Constraint in coward thoughts rash valor breeds.” 43. This did he speake despairing hope to come For prince _Canute_, if we pursu’d the chace: Some did approue his counsell sound, and some Did vrge against the same, yet found it grace With those both rightlie wise and best in place: By whose aduice retreate I did command, Losing the chance then put into my hand. 44. Thus did Troye’s helme-deckt, _Hector_ when in chace He had the Greekes vpon Scamander’s plaine, And made them house their heads with deepe disgrace In their owne fleet: whom then hee could haue slaine And burnt their ships, which did their hopes containe: But then being crost by lucklesse destinie He did omit the profferd victorie. 45. Thus did Rome’s scourge, the famous _Hanniball_, For when he might with his victorious powers Haue made that towne beneath his sword to fall, And leueld with the ground her high topt towers, Then did he let passe those auspicious houers, In which with ease he might haue queld the foe, Who after wrought his and his countrie’s woe. 46. Securefull thoughts do foster fond delay, Bewitching hopes breed carelesnesse of minde, Occasion set on wing flies fast away, Whose backe once turn’d no hold fast can we finde, Her feet are swift, bald is her head behinde, Who so hath hold and after lets her goe, Doth lose the lot which fortune did bestowe. 47.