The Fall of King Emerianus, Deposed for His Tyranny

The wofull wight that fell from throne to thrall,
The wretch that woue the web wherein hee goes,
A dolefull blacke bad weede still weare hee shall
In woefull sorte, and nothing blame his foes:
What neede such one at all his name disclose?
Except the haplesse rest of Britaynes should,
Not here for shame recite his name hee would.

I am Emeriane King that raignde a space,
Scarce all one yeare, in Britayne Isle long sence,
But for I was in maners voide of grace,
Ferce, tyranous, and full of negligence,
Bloud thirsty, cruell, vaine, deuoide of sence;
The Britaynes mee deposde, from seat and crowne,
And reaude mee quite of riches and renowne.

I was despisde and banisht from my blisse,
Discountnaunste, fayne to hide my selfe for shame:
What neede I longer stand to tell thee this?
My selfe was for my woefull fall to blame:
My raygne was short, in fewe my fall I frame,
My life was lothsome, soone like death that found,
Let this suffice a warning blaste to sound.

Lenvoy.

The cause why here this Prince is briefe in talke
Is, for the stories scarce remembre such,
What neede I then with them more farder walke?
Sith this perhaps may seeme, is sayd to much,
I must but briefly these vnworthy tutch:
The next approaching pufte with dropsie wanne,
Thus wise, mee thought, his yexeing tale beganne.