Fraus meretur fraudem
The Lion oulde that coulde not get his praye,
By swifte pursute, as he had done of late:
Did faigne him sicke, and in his denne did staye,
And praede on those, that came to see his state:
At lengthe, the foxe his dutie to declare,
Came to the dore, to knowe howe he did fare.
Who answered, sicke, my oulde beloved frende?
Come in, and see, and feele my pulses beate:
To whome, quoth he, I dare not now intende,
Bicause, these steppes some secret mischiefe threate:
For, all I see have gone into thy denne,
But none I finde, that have retorn'd againe.