Tears The Teares of the Muses. The R E e hearse to me ye sacred Sisters nine: The golden brood of great Apolloes wit, Those piteous plaints and sorowfull sad tine, Which late ye powred forth as ye did sit Beside the siluer silver Springs of Helicone, Making your musick of hart-breaking mone. For since the time that Phœbus foolish sonne Ythundered through Ioues Joves auengefull avengefull wrath, For trauersing traversing the charret of the Sunne Beyond the compasse of his pointed path, Of you his mournfull Sisters was lamented, Such mournfull tunes were neuer never since inuented invented . Nor since that faire Calliope did lose Her loued loved Twinnes, the dearlings of her ioy joy , Her Palici, whom her vnkindly unkindly foes The fatall Sisters, did for spight destroy, Whom all the Muses did bewaile long space; Was euer ever heard such wayling in this place. For all their groues groves , which with the heauenly heavenly noyses Of their sweete instruments were wont to sound, And th’hollow hills, from which their siluer silver voyces Were wont redoubled Echoes to rebound, Did now rebound with nought but rufull cries, And yelling shrieks throwne vp up into the skies. The trembling streames which wont in chanels cleare To romble gently downe with murmur soft, And were by them right tunefull taught to beare A Bases part amongst their consorts oft; Now forst to ouerflowe overflowe with brackish teares, With troublous noyse did dull their daintie eares. The Tears of the Muses. Heare E3 The ioyous joyous Nymphes and lightfoote Faeries Which thether came to heare their musick sweet, And to the measure of their melodies Did learne to moue move their nimble shifting feete; Now hearing them so heauily heavily lament, Like heauily heavily lamenting from them went. And all that els was wont to worke delight Through the diuine divine infusion of their skill, And all that els seemd faire and fresh in sight, So made by nature for to serue serve their will, Was turned now to dismall heauinesse heavinesse , Was turned now to dreadfull vglinesse uglinesse . Ay me, what thing on earth that all thing breeds, Might be the cause of so impatient plight? What furie, or what feend with felon deeds Hath stirred vp up so mischieuous mischievous despight? Can griefe then enter into heauenly heavenly harts, And pierce immortall breasts with mortall smarts? Vouchsafe ye then, whom onely it concernes, To me those secret causes to display; For none but you, or who of you it learnes Can rightfully Gan rightfully aread so dolefull lay. Begin thou eldest Sister of the crew, And let the rest in order thee ensew. Clio. Heare thou great Father of the Gods on hie That most art dreaded for thy thunder darts: And thou our Syre that raignst in Castalie And mount Parnasse, the God of goodly Arts: The Teares of the Muses. Base Heare and behold the miserable state Of vs us thy daughters, dolefull desolate. Behold the fowle reproach and open shame, The which is day by day vnto unto vs us wrought By such as hate the honour of our name, The foes of learning, and each gentle thought; They not contented vs us themselues themselves to scorne, Doo seeke to make vs us of the world forlorne. Ne onely they that dwell in lowly dust, The sonnes of darknes and of ignoraunce; But they, whom thou great Ioue Jove by doome vniust unjust Didst to the type of honour earst aduaunce advaunce ; They now puft vp up with sdeignfull insolence, Despise the brood of blessed Sapience. The sectaries of my celestiall skill, That wont to be the worlds chiefe ornament, And learned Impes that wont to shoote vp up still, And grow to hight of kingdomes gouernment government They vnderkeep underkeep , and with their spredding armes Doo beat their buds, that perish through their harmes. It most behoues behoves the honorable race Of mightie Peeres, true wisedome to sustaine, And with their noble countenaunce to grace The learned forheads, without gifts or gaine: Or rather learnd themselues themselves behoues behoves to bee; That is the girlond of Nobilitie. But (ah) all otherwise they doo esteeme Of th’heauenly gift of wisdomes influence, And to be learned it a base thing deeme; The Teares of the Muses. Melpo- Base minded they that want intelligence: For God himselfe for wisedome most is praised, And men to God thereby are nighest raised. But they doo onely striue strive themselues themselves to raise Through pompous pride, and foolish vanitie; In th’eyes of people they put all their praise, And onely boast of Armes and Auncestrie: But vertuous deeds, which did those Armes first giue give To their Grandsyres, they care not to atchiue atchive . So I, that doo all noble feates professe To register, and sound in trump of gold; Through their bad dooings, or base slothfulnesse, Finde nothing worthie to be writ, or told: For better farre it were to hide their names, Than telling them to blazon out their blames. So shall succeeding ages haue have no light Of things forepast, nor moniments of time, And all that in this world is worthie hight Shall die in darknesse, and lie hid in slime: Therefore I mourne with deep harts sorrowing, Because I nothing noble haue have to sing. With that she raynd such store of streaming teares, That could haue have made a stonie heart to weep, And all her Sisters rent their golden heares, And their faire faces with salt humour steep. So ended shee: and then the next anew, Began her grieuous grievous plaint as doth ensew. Teares of the Muses. Full Melpomene. Melpomine. O who shall powre into my swollen eyes A sea of teares that neuer never may be dryde, A brasen voice that may with shrilling cryes Pierce the dull heauens heavens and fill the ayer wide, And yron sides that sighing may endure, To waile the wretchednes of world impure? Ah wretched world the den of wickednesse, Deformd with filth and fowle iniquitie; Ah wretched world the house of heauinesse heavinesse , Fild with the wreaks of mortall miserie; Ah wretched world, and all that is therein The vassals of Gods wrath, and slaues slaves of ſin sin to ſinsin . Most miserable creature vnder under sky Man without vnderstanding understanding doth appeare; For all this worlds affliction he thereby, And Fortunes freakes is wisely taught to beare: Of wretched life the onely ioy joy shee is, And th’only comfort in calamities. She armes the brest with constant patience, Against the bitter throwes of dolours darts, She solaceth with rules of Sapience The gentle minds, in midst of worldlie smarts: When he is sad, shee seeks to make him merie, And doth refresh his sprights when they be werie. But he that is of reasons skill bereft, And wants the staffe of wisedome him to stay, Is like a ship in midst of tempest left Withouten helme or Pilot her to sway, The Teares of the Muses. Threw F Full sad and dreadfull is that ships euent event : So is the man that wants intendiment. Whie then doo foolish men so much despize The precious store of this celestiall riches? Why doo they banish vs us , that patronize The name of learning? Most vnhappie unhappie wretches, The which lie drowned in deep wretchednes, Yet doo not see their owne vnhappines unhappines . My part it is and my professed skill The Stage with Tragick buskin to adorne, And fill the Scene with plaint and outcries shrill Of wretched persons, to misfortune borne: But none more tragick matter I can finde Than this, of men depriu’d depriv’d of sense and minde. For all mans life me seemes a Tragedy, Full of sad sights and sore Catastrophees; First comming to the world with weeping eye, Where all his dayes like dolorous Trophees, Are heapt with spoyles of fortune and of feare, And he at last laid forth on balefull beare. So all with rufull spectacles is fild Fit for Megera or Persephone; But I that in true Tragedies am skild, The flowre of wit, finde nought to busie me: Therefore I mourne, and pitifully mone, Because that mourning matter I haue have none. Then gan she wofully to waile, and wring Her wretched hands in lamentable wise; And all her Sisters thereto answering. The Teares of the Muses. All Threw forth lowd shrieks and drerie dolefull cries. So rested she: and then the next in rew, Began her grieuous grievous plaint as doth ensew. Thalia. Where be the sweete delights of learnings treasure, That wont with Comick sock to beautefie The painted Theaters, and fill with pleasure The listners eyes, and eares with melodie; In which I late was wont to raine as Queene, And maske in mirth with Graces well befeene? O all is gone, and all that goodly glee, Which wont to be the glorie of gay wits, Is layd abed, and no where now to see; And in her roome vnseemly unseemly Sorrow sits, With hollow browes and greisly countenaunce, Marring my ioyous joyous gentle dalliaunce. And him beside sits vgly ugly Barbarisme, And brutish Ignorance, ycrept of late Out of dredd darknes of the deep Abysme, Where being bredd, he light and heauen heaven does hate: They in the mindes of men now tyrannize, And the faire Scene with rudenes foule disguize. All places they with follie haue have possest, And with vaine toyes the vulgare entertaine; But me haue have banished, with all the rest That whilome wont to wait vpon upon my traine, Fine Counterfesaunce and vnhurtfull unhurtfull vnhurtfnll unhurtfnll Sport, Delight and Laughter deckt in seemly sort. The Teares of the Muses. There- F2 All these, and all that els the Comick Stage With seasoned wit and goodly pleasance graced; By which mans life in his likest image Was limned forth, are wholly now defaced; And those sweete wits which wont the like to frame, Are now despizd, and made a laughing game. And he the man, whom Nature selfe had made To mock her selfe, and Truth to imitate, With kindly counter vnder under Mimick shade, Our pleasant Willy, ah is dead of late: With whom all ioy joy and iolly jolly meriment Is also deaded, and in dolour drent. In stead thereof scoffing Scurrilitie, And scornfull Follie with Contempt is crept, Rolling in rymes of shameles ribaudrie Without regard, or due Decorum kept, Each idle wit at will presumes to make, And doth the Learneds taske vpon upon him take. But that same gentle Spirit, from whose pen Large streames of honnie and sweete Nectar flowe, Scorning the boldnes of such base-borne men, Which dare their follies forth so rashlie throwe; Doth rather choose to sit in idle Cell, Than so himselfe to mockerie to sell. So am I made the seruant servant of the manie, And laughing stocke of all that list to scorne, Not honored nor cared for of anie; But loath’d of losels as a thing forlorne: Therefore I mourne and sorrow with the rest, Vntill Untill my cause of sorrow be redrest. The Teares of the Muses. And Therewith she lowdly did lament and shrike, Pouring forth streames of teares abundantly, And all her Sisters with compassion like, The breaches of her singulfs did supply. So rested shee: and then the next in rew Began her grieuous grievous plaint, as doth ensew. Euterpe. Like as the dearling of the Summers pryde, Faire Philomele, when winters stormie wrath The goodly fields, that earst so gay were dyde In colours diuers divers , quite despoyled hath, All comfortlesse doth hide her chearlesse head During the time of that her widowhead: So we, that earst were wont in sweet accord All places with our pleasant notes to fill, Whilest fauourable favourable times did vs us afford Free libertie to chaunt our charmes at will: All comfortlesse vpon upon the bared bow, Like wofull Culuers Culvers doo sit wayling now. For far more bitter storme than winters stowre The beautie of the world hath lately wasted, And those fresh buds, which wont so faire to flowre, Hath marred quite, and all their blossoms blasted: And those yong plãts plants , which wont with fruit t’aboũd t’abound , Now without fruite or leaues leaves are to be found. A stonie coldnesse hath benumbd the sence And liuelie livelie spirits of each liuing living wight, And dimd with darknesse their intelligence, Darknesse more than Cymerians daylie night? The Teares of the Muses. The F3 And monstrous error flying in the ayre, Hath mard the face of all that semed fayre. Image of hellish horrour Ignorance, Borne in the bosome of the black Abysse, And fed with furies milke, for sustenaunce Of his weake infancie, begot amisse By yawning Sloth on his owne mother Night; So hee his sonnes both Syre and brother hight. He armd with blindnesse and with boldnes stout, (For blind is bold) hath our fayre light defaced; And gathering vnto unto him a ragged rout Of Faunes and Satyres, hath our dwellings raced And our chast bowers, in which all vertue rained, With brutishnesse and beastlie filth hath stained. The sacred springs of horsefoot Helicon, So oft bedeawed with our learned layes, And speaking streames of pure Castalion, The famous witnesse of our wonted praise, They trampled haue have with their fowle footings trade, And like to troubled puddles haue have them made. Our pleasant groues groves , which planted were with paines, That with our musick wont so oft to ring, And arbors sweet, in which the Shepheards swaines Were wont so oft their Pastoralls to sing, They haue have cut downe and all their pleasaunce mard, That now no pastorall is to bee hard. In stead of them fowle Goblins and Shriekowles, With fearfull howling do all places fill; And feeble Eccho now laments and howles, The Teares of the Muses. And The dreadfull accents of their outcries shrill. So all is turned into wildernesse, Whilest ignorance the Muses doth oppresse. And I whose ioy joy was earst with Spirit full To teach the warbling pipe to sound aloft, My spirits now dismayd with sorrow dull, Doo mone my miserie in silence soft. Therefore I mourne and waile incessantly, Till please the heauens heavens affoord me remedy. Therewith shee wayled with exceeding woe And pitious lamentation did make, And all her sisters seeing her doo soe, With equall plaints her sorrowe did partake. So rested shee: and then the next in rew, Began her grieuous grievous plaint as doth ensew. Terpsichore. Who so hath in the lap of soft delight Beene long time luld, and fed with pleasures sweet, Feareles through his own fault or Fortunes spight, To tumble into sorrow and regreet, Yf chaunce him fall into calamitie, Findes greater burthen of his miserie. So wee that earst in ioyance joyance did abound And in the bosome of all blis did sit, Like virgin Queenes with laurell garlands cround, For vertues meed and ornament of wit. Sith ignorance our kingdome did confound, Bee now become most wretched wightes on ground: The Teares of the Muses. Nor And in our royall thrones which lately stood In th’hearts of men to rule them carefully, He now hath placed his accursed brood, By him begotten of fowle infamy; Blind Error, scornefull Follie, and base Spight, Who hold by wrong, that wee should haue have by right. They to the vulgar sort now pipe and sing, And make them merrie with their fooleries, They cherelie chaunt and rymes at randon fling, The fruitfull spawne of their ranke fantaſiesfantasies: fantaſiesfantasies. They feede the eares of fooles with flattery, And good men blame, and losels magnify: All places they doo with their toyes possesse, And raigne in liking of the multitude, The schooles they fill with fond new fanglenesse, And sway in Court with pride and rashnes rude; Mongst simple shepheards they do boast their skill, And say their musicke matcheth Phœbus quill. The noble hearts to pleasures they allure, And tell their Prince that learning is but vaine, Faire Ladies loues loves they spot with thoughts impure, And gentle mindes with lewd delights distaine: Clerks they to loathly idlenes entice, And fill their bookes with discipline of vice. So euery every where they rule and tyrannize, For their vsurped usurped kingdomes maintenaunce, The whiles we silly Maides, whom they dispize, And with reprochfull scorne discountenaunce, From our owne natiue native heritage exilde, Walk through the world of euery every one reuilde revilde . The Teares of the Muses. Now Nor anie one doth care to call vs us in, Or once vouchsafeth vs us to entertaine, Vnlesse Unlesse some one perhaps of gentle kin, For pitties sake compassion our paine: And yeeld vs us some reliefe in this distresse, Yet to be so relieu’d reliev’d is wretchednesse. So wander we all carefull comfortlesse, Yet none doth care to comfort vs us at all; So seeke we helpe our sorrow to redresse, Yet none vouchsafes to answere to our call: Therefore we mourne and pittilesse complaine, Because none liuing living pittieth our paine. With that she wept and wofullie waymented, That naught on earth her griefe might pacifie; And all the rest her dolefull din augmented, With shrikes and groanes and grieuous grievous agonie. So ended shee: and then the next in rew, Began her piteous plaint as doth ensew. Erato Ye gentle Spirits breathing from aboue above , Where ye in Venus siluer silver bowre were bred, Thoughts halfe deuine devine full of the fire of loue love , With beawtie kindled and with pleasure fed, Which ye now in securitie possesse, Forgetfull of your former heauinesse heavinesse : Now change the tenor of your ioyous joyous layes, With which ye vse use your loues loves to deifie, And blazon foorth an earthlie beauties praise, Aboue Above the compasse of the arched skie: The Teares of the Muses. Thy G Now change your praises into piteous cries, And Eulogies turne into Elegies. Such as ye wont whenas those bitter stounds Of raging loue love first gan you to torment, And launch your hearts with lamentable wounds Of secret sorrow and sad languishment, Before your Loues Loves did take you vnto unto grace; Those now renew as fitter for this place. For I that rule in measure moderate The tempest of that stormie passion, And vse use to paint in rimes the troublous state Of Louers Lovers life in likest fashion, Am put from practise of my kindlie skill, Banisht by those that Loue Love with leawdnes fill. Loue Love wont to be schoolmaster of my skill, And the deuicefull devicefull matter of my song; Sweete Loue Love deuoyd devoyd of villanie or ill, But pure and spotles, as at first he sprong Out of th’Almighties bosome, where he nests; From thence infused into mortall brests. Such high conceipt of that celestiall fire, The base-borne brood of blindnes cannot gesse, Ne euer ever dare their dunghill thoughts aspire Vnto Unto so loftie pitch of perfectnesse, But rime at riot, and doo rage in loue love ; Yet little wote what doth thereto behoue behove . Faire Cytheree the Mother of delight, And Queene of beautie, now thou maist go pack, For lo thy Kingdome is defacd quight, The Teares of the Muses. For Thy scepter rent, and power put to wrack; And thy gay Sonne, that winged God of Loue Love , May now goe prune his plumes like ruffed Doue Dove . And ye three Twins to light by Venus brought, The sweete companions of the Muses late, From whom whateuer whatever thing is goodly thought Doth borrow grace, the fancie to aggrate; Go beg with vs us , and be companions still As heretofore of good, so now of ill. For neither you nor we shall anie more Finde entertainment, or in Court or Schoole: For that which was accounted heretofore The learneds meed, is now lent to the foole, He sings of loue love , and maketh louing loving layes, And they him heare, and they him highly prayse. With that she powred foorth a brackish flood Of bitter teares, and made exceeding mone; And all her Sisters seeing her sad mood, With lowd laments her answered all at one. So ended she: and then the next in rew Began her grieuous grievous plaint, as doth ensew. Calliope. To whom shall I my euill evill case complaine, Or tell the anguish of my inward smart, Sith none is left to remedie my paine, Or deignes to pitie a perplexed hart; But rather seekes my sorrow to augment With fowle reproach, and cruell banishment. The Teares of the Muses. There- G4 For they to whom I vsed used to applie The faithfull seruice service of my learned skill, The goodly off-spring of Ioues Joves progenie, That wont the world with famous acts to fill; Whose liuing living praises in heroïck style, It is my chiefe profession to compyle. They all corrupted through the rust of time, That doth all fairest things on earth deface, Or through vnnoble unnoble sloth, or sinfull crime, That doth degenerate the noble race; Haue Have both desire of worthie deeds forlorne, And name of learning vtterly utterly doo scorne. Ne doo they care to haue have the auncestrie Of th’old Heroës memorizde anew, Ne doo they care that late posteritie Should know their names, or speak their praises dew: But die forgot from whence at first they sprong, As they themselues themselves shalbe forgot ere long. What bootes it then to come from glorious Forefathers, or to haue have been nobly bredd? What oddes twixt Irus and old Inachus, Twixt best and worst, when both alike are dedd; If none of neither mention should make, Nor out of dust their memories awake? Or who would euer ever care to doo braue brave deed, Or striue strive in vertue others to excell; If none should yeeld him his deserued deserved meed, Due praise, that is the spur of dooing well? For if good were not praised more than ill, None would choose goodnes of his owne freewill. The Teares of the Muses. With Therefore the nurse of vertue I am hight, And golden Trompet of eternitie, That lowly thoughts lift vp up to heauens heavens hight, And mortall men haue have powre to deifie: Bacchus and Hercules I raisd to heauen heaven , And Charlemaine, amongst the Starris seauen seaven . But now I will my golden Clarion rend, And will henceforth immortalize no more: Sith I no more finde worthie to commend For prize of value, or for learned lore: For noble Peeres whom I was wont to raise, Now onely seeke for pleasure, nought for praise. Their great reuenues revenues all in sumptuous pride They spend, that nought to learning they may spare; And the rich fee which Poets wont diuide divide , Now Parasites and Sycophants doo share: Therefore I mourne and endlesse sorrow make, Both for my selfe and for my Sisters sake. With that she lowdly gan to waile and shrike, And from her eyes a sea of teares did powre, And all her sisters with compassion like, Did more increase the sharpnes of her showre. So ended she: and then the next in rew Began her plaint, as doth herein ensew. Vrania Urania . What wrath of Gods, or wicked influence Of Starres conspiring wretched men t’afflict, Hath powrd on earth this noyous pestilence, That mortall mindes doth inwardly infect The Teares of the Muses. And G3 With loue love of blindnesse and of ignorance, To dwell in darkenesse without souerance soverance ? What difference twixt man and beast is left, When th’heauenlie th’heavenlie light of knowledge is put out, And th’ornaments of wisdome are bereft? Then wandreth he in error and in doubt, Vnweeting Unweeting of the danger hee is in, Through fleshes frailtie and deceipt of sin. In this wide world in which they wretches stray, It is the onelie comfort which they haue have , It is their light, their loadstarre and their day; But hell and darkenesse and the grislie graue grave Is ignorance, the enemie of grace, That mindes of men borne heauenlie heavenlie doth debace. Through knowledge we behold the worlds creation, How in his cradle first he fostred was; And iudge judge of Natures cunning operation, How things she formed of a formelesse mas: By knowledge wee do learne our selues selves to knowe, And what to man, and what to God wee owe. From hence wee mount aloft vnto unto the skie, And looke into the Christall firmament, There we behold the heauens heavens great Hierarchie, The Starres pure light, the Spheres swift mouement movement , The Spirites and Intelligences fayre, And Angels waighting on th’Almighties chayre. And there with humble minde and high insight, Th’eternall Makers maiestie majestie wee viewe, His loue love , his truth, his glorie, and his might, The Teares of the Muses. Without And mercie more than mortall men can vew. O soueraigne soveraigne Lord, ô soueraigne soveraigne happinesse To see thee, and thy mercie measurelesse: Such happines haue have they, that doo embrace The precepts of my heauenlie heavenlie discipline; But shame and sorrow and accursed case Haue Have they, that scorne the schoole of arts diuine divine , And banish mee, which do professe the skill To make men heauenly heavenly wise, through humbled will. How euer ever yet they mee despise and spight, I feede on sweet contentment of my thought, And please my selfe with mine owne selfe-delight, In contemplation of things heauenlie heavenlie wrought: So loathing earth, I looke vp up to the sky, And being driuen driven hence I thether fly. Thence I behold the miserie of men Which want the blis that wisedom would thẽ them breed, And like brute beasts doo lie in loathsome den, Of ghostly darkenes, and of gastlie dreed: For whom I mourne and for my selfe complaine, And for my Sisters eake whom they disdaine. With that shee wept and waild so pityouslie, As if her eyes had beene two springing wells: And all the rest her sorrow to supplie, Did throw forth shrieks and cries and dreery yells. So ended shee, and then the next in rew, Began her mournfull plaint as doth ensew. Polyhymnia. A dolefull case desires a dolefull song, The Teares of the Muses. One Without vaine art or curious complements, And squallid Fortune into basenes flong, Doth scorne the pride of wonted ornaments. Then fittest are these ragged rimes for mee, To tell my sorrowes that exceeding bee: For the sweet numbers and melodious measures, With which I wont the winged words to tie, And make a tunefull Diapase of pleasures, Now being let to runne at libertie By those which haue have no skill to rule them right, Haue Have now quite lost their naturall delight. Heapes of huge words vphoorded uphoorded hideously, With horrid sound though hauing having little sence, They thinke to be chiefe praise of Poëtry; And thereby wanting due intelligence, Haue Have mard the face of goodly Poësie, And made a monster of their fantasie: Whilom in ages past none might professe But Princes and high Priests that secret skill, The sacred lawes therein they wont expresse, And with deepe Oracles their verses fill: Then was shee held in soueraigne soveraigne dignitie, And made the noursling of Nobilitie. But now nor Prince nor Priest doth her maintayne, But suffer her prophaned for to beee Of the base vulgar, that with hands vncleane uncleane Dares to pollute her hidden mysterie. And treadeth vnder under foote hir holie things, Which was the care of Kesars and of Kings. The Teares of the Muses. One onelie liues lives , her ages ornament, And myrrour of her Makers maiestie majestie ; That with rich bountie and deare cherishment, Supports the praise of noble Poësie: Ne onelie fauours favours them which it professe, But is her selfe a peereles Poëtresse. Most peereles Prince, most peereles Poëtresse, The true Pandora of all heauenly heavenly graces, graces. Diuine Divine Elisa, sacred Emperesse: Liue Live she for euer ever , and her royall P’laces Be fild with praises of diuinest divinest wits, That her eternize with their heauenlie heavenlie writs. Some few beside, this sacred skill esteme, Admirers of her glorious excellence, Which being lightned with her beawties beme, Are thereby fild with happie influence: And lifted vp up aboue above the worldes gaze, To sing with Angels her immortall praize. But all the rest as borne of saluage salvage brood, And hauing having beene with Acorns alwaies fed; Can no whit sauour savour this celestiall food, But with base thoughts are into blindnesse led, And kept from looking on the lightsome day: For whome I waile and weepe all that I may. Eftsoones such store of teares shee forth did powre, As if shee all to water would haue have gone; And all her sisters seeing her sad stowre, Did weep and waile and made exceeding mone: And all their learned instruments did breake, The rest vntold untold no louing loving tongue can speake. FINIS.