O Atropos, of the fatall systers iii 120 Goddes most cruel vnto the lyfe of man, All merciles, in thé is no pite! O homicide, which sleest all that thou can, So forcibly vpon this erle thou ran, That with thy sword, enharpit of mortall drede, Thou kit asonder his perfight vitall threde! My wordes vnpullysht be, nakide and playne, Of aureat poems they want ellumynynge; But by them to knowlege ye may attayne Of this lordes dethe and of his murdrynge; 130 Which whils he lyued had fuyson of euery thing, Of knights, of squyers, chyf lord of toure and towne, Tyl fykkell Fortune began on hym to frowne: Paregall to dukes, with kynges he might compare, Surmountinge in honor al erlis he did excede; To all countreis aboute hym reporte me I dare; Lyke to Eneas benigne in worde and dede, Valiant as Hector in euery marciall nede, Prouydent,[201] discrete, circumspect, and wyse, Tyll the chaunce ran agayne hym of Fortunes duble dyse. 140 What nedeth me for to extoll his fame With my rude pen enkankered all with rust, Whose noble actes show worshiply his name, Transendyng far[202] myne homly Muse, that muste Yet somwhat wright supprised with herty[203] lust, Truly reportyng his right noble estate, Immortally whiche is immaculate? His noble blode neuer destayned was, Trew to his prince for to defend his ryght, Doblenes hatyng fals maters to compas, 150 Treytory and treason he banysht out of syght, With truth to medle was al his holl delyght, As all his countrey can testyfy the same: To sle[204] suche a lorde, alas, it was great shame! If the hole quere of the Musis nyne In me all onely wer set and comprysed, Enbrethed with the blast of influence deuyne, As perfytly as could be thought or deuised; To me also allthough it were promised Of laureat Phebus holy the eloquence, 160 All were to lytell for his magnificence. O yonge lyon, but tender yet of age, Grow and encrese, remembre thyn estate; God thé assyst unto thyn herytage, And geue thé grace to be more fortunate! Agayn rebellyones arme thé[205] to make debate; And, as the lyone, whiche is of bestes kynge, Unto thy subiectes be curteis and benygne. I pray God sende thé prosperous lyfe and long, Stable thy mynde constant to be and fast, 170 Ryght to mayntayn, and to resyst all wronge: All flateryng faytors abhor and from thé cast; Of foule detraction God kepe thé from the blast! Let double delyng in thé haue no place, And be not lyght of credence in no case.