As when it happ’neth that some lovely towne, Unto a barbarous besieger falles, Who there by sword and flame himselfe enstalles, And, cruell, it in teares and blood doth drowne; Her beauty spoyl’d, her citizens made thralls, His spight yet so cannot her all throw downe, But that some statue, arch, phan of renowne Yet lurkes unmaym’d within her weeping walles:

So, after all the spoile, disgrace, and wrake, That time, the world, and death could bring combin’d, Amidst that masse of ruines they did make, Safe and all scarre-lesse yet remaines my minde:

From this so high transcending rapture springes, That I, all else defac’d, not envie kinges.