Book II, Metre VI (I. T.): Nero's Infamy

We know what stirs he made
Who did the Senate slay and Rome with fire invade,
Who did his brother kill
And with his mother's blood his moistened hand did fill ;
Who looked on that cold face
Tearless, and nicely marked her members' several grace.
Yet his dread power controlled
Those people whom the sun doth in the east behold,
And those who do remain
In western lands or dwell under Bootes' wain
And those whose skins are tanned
With southern winds, which roast and burn the parched sand.
What ? Could this glorious might
Restrain the furious rage of wicked Nero's spite ?
But oh ! mishap most bad,
Which doth the wicked sword to cruel poison add !