XL
In which as in a gallery this mouse Walk'd, and surveid the roomes of this vast house, And to the braine, the soules bedchamber, went, And gnaw'd the life cords there; Like a whole towne Cleane undermined, the slaine beast tumbled downe; With him the murtherer dies, whom envy sent To kill, not scape, (for, only hee that ment To die, did ever kill a man of better roome,) And thus he made his foe, his prey, and tombe: Who cares not to turn back, may any whither come.