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The infamous ende of Lord Iohn Tip∣toft Earle of VVurcester, for cru∣elly executing his princes butcherly commaun∣dementes.
THe glorious man is not so loth to lurke,
As the infamous glad to lye vnknowen:
Which maketh me Baldwin disalow thy wurke,
Where princes faultes so openly be blowen.
I speake not this alonely for mine owne
Which wer my princes (if that they wer any)
But for my Pyers, in numbre very many.
Or might report vprightly vse her tong,
It would lesse greve vs to augment thy matter.
But suer I am thou shalt be forst among,
To frayne the truth, the living for to ••atter:
And otherwhiles in poyntes vnknowen to smatter.
For time never was, nor ever I thinke shall be,
That truth vnshent should speake in all thinges fre.
This doeth appere (I dare say) by my story,
Which divers writers diversly declare,
But story writers ought for neyther glory,
Feare, nor favour, truth of thinges to spare.
But still it fares as alway it did fare,
Affection, feare, or doubtes that dayly brue,
Do cause that stories never can be true.