That wicked Guise I feare me much will be,
The wine of that famous Realme of France:
For his aspiring thoughts aime at the crowne,
He takes his vantage on Religion,
To plant the Pope and popelings in the Realme,
And binde it wholy to the Sea of Rome:
But if that God doe prosper mine attempts,
And send us safely to arrive in France:
Wee'l beat him back, and drive him to his death,
That basely seekes the wine of his Realme.