Faire ye be sure, but cruell and unkind,
As is a Tygre that with greediness 
Hunts after blood, when he by chance doth find
A feeble beast, doth felly him oppresse.
Faire be ye sure, but proud and pittiless, 
As is a storme that all things doth prostrate,
Finding a tree alone all comfortless,
Beats on it strongly, it to ruinate. 
Faire be ye sure. but hard and obstinate,
As is a rocke amidst the raging floods, 
Gainst which a ship of succour desolate, 
Doth suffer wreck both of her selfe and goods. 

That ship, that tree, and that same beast am I,
Whom ye do wreck, doe ruine and destroy.