For as he should vpon a solemne day Make triall of a scarlet vestiment, The cape being straite, the which he did assay To put vpon his head, by chance did rent, Which with this scornefull scoffe to me he sent, “Vnto our brother beare the same,” said he, “We know he hath a sharper head then we.” 118. The garment being brought, the rent I found, At which my troubled thoughts so grieued were, That many doubts did in the same abound, Which made me aske of him, that did it beare, If any one before the same did weare: Who told me of the king’s disdainfull scorne, And how by chance the same by him was torne. 119. Affliction bleeding fresh at this wide wound, My heart griefe’s burthen could no longer beare, But downe I cast my selfe vpon the ground, Where I with wretched hands, the hoarie heare From off my aged head, alas, did teare, And when my tongue was free, against my foe I forc’d it vtter forth these words of woe. 120. “Woe, woe is me, that I was euer borne Of halfe so many yeares to liue the space, And in the end to liue my brother’s scorne, Yea trebble woe to me, since such disgrace Doth in despight my former deeds deface: Then perish all my deeds, be neuer seene, Die fame with shame, as it had neuer beene. 121. Could not disdainfull _Henrie_ be content, Into his hands my kingdome to surprise, Could not my thraldome cause him to relent, Nor th’vnsustained losse of both mine eyes His rage ’gainst me his brother yet suffice? But must he thus my princely state abuse, And as an almesman his owne brother vse? 122. Why haue yee then, ah why, haue yee thus long, Ye vnremorsefull fates produc’d that thread Of loathed life, by life to lengthen wrong? Why clip ye not my clew? why am I fed With breath of life, and yet in life am dead? Curst be such fate, and curst that fatall hower, When first begot, I came within your power.” 123. Hardned with griefe, in spight of death to die, Thenceforth as loathing life I stopt mine eares, When hungrie food for appetite did crie: And while with hunger nature slowly weares, My food was sighes, my drinke griefe’s mournfull teares, Famine at length did blow the banefull breath, Whose bitter blast did strike my soule with death. 124.