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Eleg. 5.
[For thee, Great Iames, my springs of sorrow run]
For thee, Great Iames, my springs of sorrow run,
For thee my Muse a heavy song doth sing,
That hast lost more in losing of thy Sonne,
Than they that lose the title of a King.
Needs must the pains that do disturbe the head
Disease the body throughout every part;
I therefore should have seem'd a member dead,
If I had had no feeling of this smart;
But oh, I grieve, and yet I grieve the lesse,
Thy Kingly gift so well prevail'd to make him
Fit for a Crown of endlesse happinesse,
And that it was th' Almighties hand did take him,
Who was himselfe a book for Kings to pore on,
And might have bin thy ΒΑΣΙΛΙΚΟΝ ΔΩΡΟΝ.
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