Amid the presse of worldly lookes to waste, (5) Hath with it ioynde oft times such bitter taste. That who so ioyes such kinde of life to hold, In prison ioyes fettred with cheines of gold.
Of disapointed purpose by
O F Carthage he that worthy warriour +Could ouercome, but could not vse his chance And I likewise of all my long endeuour The sharpe conquest though fortune did aduance, (5) Ne could I vse. The hold that is geuen ouer, I vnposest, so hangeth now in balance Of warre, my peace, reward of all my paine, At Mountzon thus I restlesse rest in Spaine.
Of his returne from
T Agus + farewell that Westward with thy stremes Turnes vp the graines of gold already tried, +For I with spurre and saile go seke the temmes. Gaineward the sunne that sheweth her welthy pride, (5) And to the town that Brutus sought by dreames, Like bended mone that leanes her lusty side. My king, my countrey, I seke for whom I liue, O mighty Ioue the windes for this me giue.