751The Poets write that great Achilles speare,

752Could heale the wound it made: the morrall is,

753What mighty men misdoo, they can amend:

754The Lyon doth become his bloody iawes,

755And grace his forragement by being milde,

756When vassell feare lies trembling at his feete,

757The king will in his glory hide thy shame,

758And those that gaze on him to finde out thee,

759Will loose their eie-sight looking in the Sunne:

760What can one drop of poyson harme the Sea,

761Whose hugie vastures can digest the ill,

762And make it loose his operation:

763The kings great name will temper their misdeeds,

764And giue the bitter portion of reproch:

765A sugred sweet, and most delitious tast:

766Besides it is no harme to do the thing,

767Which without shame, could not be left vndone;

768Thus haue I in his maiesties behalfe,

769Apparraled sin, in vertuous sentences,

770And dwel vpon thy answere in his sute.

771Cou: Vnnaturall beseege, woe me vnhappie,

772To haue escapt the danger of my foes,

773And to be ten times worse inuierd by friends:

774Hath he no meanes to stayne my honest blood,

775But to corrupt the author of my blood,

776To be his scandalous and vile soliciter:

777No maruell though the braunches be then infected,

778When poyson hath encompassed the roote:

779No maruell though the leprous infant dye,

780When the sterne dame inuennometh the Dug:

781Why then giue sinne a pasport to offend,

782And youth the dangerous reigne of liberty:

783Blot out the strict forbidding of the law,

784And cancell euery cannon that prescribes,

785A shame for shame, or pennance for offence,

786No let me die, if his too boystrous will,