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VEnemous
toung tipt with vile adders sting,
Of that selfe
kynd with which the Furies tell
theyr snaky heads
doe combe, from which a spring
of poysoned words and
spitefull speeches well.
Let all the plagues and
horrid paines of hell,
vpon thee fall for thine
accursed hyre:
that with false forged lyes, which
thou didst tel,
in my true loue did stirre vp coles
of yre,
The sparkes whereof let kindle thine own
fyre,
and catching hold on thine owne wicked hed
consume thee quite, that didst with guile conspire
in my sweet peace such breaches to haue bred.
Shame
be thy meed, and mischiefe thy reward.
dew to thy
selfe that it for me prepard.
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