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Tears to the soldiers, the proud Castilians shame,
What hath he lost, that such great grace hath woon?
England doth hold thy lims that bred the same,
Nations thy wit, our mindes lay up thy love;
Letters thy learning, thy losse, yeeres long to come; 50 In worthy harts sorrow hath made thy tombe;
Thy soule and spright enrich the heavens above.
Thy liberall hart imbalmd in gratefull teares,
Yoong sighes, sweet sighes, sage sighes, bewaile thy fall:
That day their Hanniball died, our Scipio fell;
ANOTHER OF THE SAME.
SILENCE augmenteth grief, writing encreaseth rage, Stald are my thoughts, which lov'd, and lost, the wonder of
Yet quickned now with fire, though dead with frost ere now, Enrag'de I write, I know not what: dead, quick, I know not how.
Hard harted mindes relent, and Rigors teares abound,
Knowledge her light hath lost, Valor hath slaine her knight; Sidney is dead, dead is my friend, dead is the worlds delight.
Place pensive wailes his fall, whose presence was her pride; Time crieth out, My ebbe is come; his life was my spring tide:
Fame mournes in that she lost the ground of her reports; Ech living wight laments his lacke, and all in sundry sorts.
He was (wo worth that word!) to ech well thinking minde
He, onely like himselfe, was second unto none,
Whose deth (though life) we rue, and wrong, and al in vain
Their losse, not him, waile they, that fill the world with cries; Death slue not him, but he made death his ladder to the
Now sinke of sorrow I, who live; the
Who wishing death, whom deth denies, whose thred is al-to
Who tied to wretched life, who lookes for no reliefe,
Harts ease and onely I, like parables run on,
Whose equall length keep equall bredth, and never meet in
Yet for not wronging him, my thoughts, my sorrowes cell, Shall not run out, though leake they will, for liking him so well.
Farewell to you, my hopes, my wonted waking dreames; Farewell, sometimes enioyed, ioy; eclipsed are thy beames! 30 Farewell selfe pleasing thoughts, which quietnes brings foorth; And farewell friendships sacred league, uniting minds of woorth.
And farewell mery hart, the gift of guiltlesse mindes,
Now rime, the sonne of rage, which art no kin to skill, And endles griefe, which deads my life, yet knowes not how to kill,
Go, seeke that haples tombe; which if ye hap to finde,
Salute the stones, that keep the lims that held so good a
A SPOUSALL VERSE,
In honour of the double marriage of the two honorable and vertuous ladies, the Ladie Elizabeth, and the Ladie Katherine Somerset, daughters to the right honorable the Earle of Worcester, and espoused to the two worthie gentlemen, M. Henry Gilford and M. William Peter, Esquyers.