Lest I offende the prince of peace, But I may chide, and braule Fame: To make her crie, and neuer cease (35) To blow the trumpe within her eares: That may appease my wofull teares.
Against wicked tonges. +
O Euill tonges, which clap at euery winde: Ye slea the quicke, and eke the dead defame: Those that liue well, some faute in them ye finde, Ye take no thought in sclaundring their good name, (5) Ye put iust men oft times to open shame, Ye ryng so loude, ye sounde vnto the skyes: And yet in proofe, ye sow nothing but lyes. Ye make great warre, where peace hath ben of long Ye bring rich realmes to ruine and decay, (10) Ye pluck downe right: ye enhaunce the wrong. Ye turne swete mirth to wo, and well awayOf mischiefes all ye are the grounde I say, Happy is he, that liues on such a sort: That nedes not feare such tonges of false report.
Hell tormenteth not the damned
gostes so sore, as vnkind-
nesse the louer. +
T He restlesse rage of depe deuouring hell, The blasing brandes, that neuer do consume: The roring route, in Plutoes den that dwell, The fiery breath, that from those ympes doth fume: (5) The dropsy dryeth, that Tantale in the flood Endureth ay, all hopelesse of reliefe: He honger steruen, where fruite is ready food So wretchedly his soule doth suffer griefe: The liuer gnawne of gylefull Promethus . (10) Which Uultures fell with strained talant tire: The labour lost of weried Sisiphus :