wiate being in prison, to Brian. +
S Yghes are my foode: my drink are my teares. Clinking of fetters would such musick craue. Stink, and close ayre away my life it weares. Poore innocence is all the hope I haue. (5) Rain, winde, or wether iudge I by mine eares. Malice assaultes, + that righteousnesse should haue.Sure am I, Brian, this wound shall heale again: But yet alas, the skarre shall still remain. +
Of dissembling wordes. +
Of the meane and sure
S Tond who so list vpon the slipper wheele, Of hye astate and let me here reioyce. And vse my life in quietnesse eche dele, Unknowen in court that hath the wanton toyes, (5) In hidden place my time shal slowly passe And when my yeres be past withouten noyceLet me dye olde after the common traceFor gripes of death doth he to hardly passeThat knowen is to all: but to him selfe alas, (10) He dyeth vnknowen, dased with dreadfull face.