Handful sig. Eiv

[sig. Eiv]

(15) Such is the chaunce, such is the state, Of those that trust too much to fate. No bragging boast of gentle blood, What so he be, can do thee good: No wit, no strength, nor beauties hue, (20) No friendly sute can death eschue. ¶The dismall day hath had his wil, And iustice seekes my life to spill: Reuengement craues by rigorous law, Whereof I little stood in a we: (25) The dolefull doom to end my life, Bedect with care and worldlie strife: And frowning iudge hath giuen his doome. O gentle death thou art welcome: The losse of life, I do not feare. (30) Then welcome death, the end of care. ¶O prisoners poore, in dungeon deep, Which passe the night in slumbring sleep: Wel may you rue your youthful race. And now lament your cursed cace, (35) Content your selfe with your estate, I mpute no shame to fickle fate: With wrong attempts, increase no wealth, Regard the state of prosperous health: And think on me, when I am dead: (40) Whom such delights haue lewdly led. ¶My friend and parents, where euer you be Full little do you thinke on me: My mother milde, and dame so deer: Thy louing childe, is fettred heer: