(35) Of force must be so cruell? To be a Lord, yet like a Tyrant minded, Vaine Boy with errour blinded. Why do’st thou hurt his life with thy offences: That yeelds to thee his soule and inward sences?
(40) He erres (alas) and foulely is deceiued That calls thee God, being a burning fire: A furious flame, a playning griefe and clamorous, And Venus sonne (that in the earth was amorous, Gentle, and mild, and full of sweet desire) (45) Who calleth him, is of his wits bereaued. And yet that she + conceaued By proofe, so vile a sonne and so vnruly: I say (and yet say truly) That in the cause of harmes, that they haue framed, (50) Both iustly may be blamed: She that did breed him with such vile pretences, He that doth hurt so much our inward sences.
The gentle Sheepe and Lambs are euer flying The rauenous Wolues and beasts, that are pretending (55) To glut their mawes with flesh they teare asunder. The milke-white Doues at noyse of fearefull thunder Flie home a-maine, themselues from harme defending. The little Chick, when Puttocks are a crying, The Woods and Meadowes dying (60) For raine of heauen (if that they cannot haue it) Doe neuer cease to craue it. So euery thing his contrary resisteth, Onely thy thrall persisteth