Phillisides is dead. O dolefull
ryme.
Why should my toong expresse thee? who is left
Now to vpholduphold thy hopes, when they do faint,
Lycon
vnfortunateunfortunate? What spitefull
fate,
What lucklesse destinie hath thee bereft
Of thy chief comfort; of thy onely stay?
Where is become thy wonted happie state,
(Alas) wherein through many a hill and dale,
Through pleasant woods, and many an vnknowneunknowne
way,
Along the bankes of many siluersilver streames,
Thou with him yodest; and with him didst scale
The craggie rocks of th’Alpes and Appenine?
Still with the Muses sporting, while
those beames
Of vertue kindled in his noble brest,
Which after did so gloriously forth shine?
But (woe is me) they now yquenched are
All suddeinly, and death hath them opprest.
Loe father Neptune, with sad
countenance,
How he sitts mourning on the strond now bare,
Yonder, where th’Ocean with his rolling waueswaves
The white feete washeth (wailing this mischance)
Of
DouerDover
cliffes. His sacred skirt
about
The sea-gods all are set; from their moist cauescaves
All for his comfort gathered there they be.
The Thamis rich, the Humber rough and stout,
The fruitfull
SeuerneSeverne, with the rest are
come
To helpe their Lord to mourne, and eke to see
The dolefull sight, and sad pomp funerall
Of the dead corps passing through his kingdome.
And all their heads with Cypres gyrlonds crown’d
With wofull shrikes salute him great and small.
Eke wailfull Eccho, forgetting her
deare
Narcissus, their last accents, doth
resownd.
;){kind=link}
;){kind=link}
;){kind=link}
;){kind=link}
;){kind=link}
;){kind=link}