Now shall his barbarous body be a pray
To beasts and foules, and al the winds shall breath
Through shady leaves of every sencelesse tree,
Murmures and hisses for his heinous sin.
Now scaldes his soule in the Tartarian streames,
And feeds upon the baneful! tree of hell,
That
Zoacum
, that fruit of bytternesse,
That in the midst of fire is ingraft,
Yet flourisheth as Flora in her pride,
With apples like the heads of damned Feends.
The Dyvils there in chaines of quencelesse flame,
Shall lead his soule through Orcus burning gulfe:
From paine to paine, whose change shal never end:
What saiest thou yet Gazellus to his foile:
Which we referd to justice of his Christ,
And to his power, which here appeares as full
As rates of Cynthia to the clearest sight?
