[Ah, ah alas, thou God of Gods]
Ah, ah alas, thou God of Gods, bow down thine eares diuine
lend Ladies here warme water springs to moist their christall eyne,
that they may weepe and waile and wring their hands with mee
for death of my beloued sonne, alas, loe dead is he,
oh God thou that guidest the ghosts and soules of them that are fled,
send sighes send sobs, send grieuous grones, and strike poore Dauid dead: Absalom, Absalom, O my sonne Absalom, my spirite with thine shall flie, come death most sweet, alas most sweet, for now, I craue to die to die,
to die I craue to die.
