University of Virginia Library

Dyuers thy death

Of the death of the same sir. T. w.

Dyuers thy death doe diuersly bemone.
Some, that in presence of thy liuelyhed
Lurked, whose brestes enuy with hate had swolne,
Yeld Ceasars teares vpon Pompeius hed.
Some, that watched with the murdrers knife,
With egre thirst to drink thy giltlesse blood,
Whose practise brake by happy ende of lyfe,
Wepe enuious teares to heare thy fame so good.
But I, that knew what harbred in that hed:
What vertues rare were temperd in that brest:
Honour the place, that such a iewell bred,
And kisse the ground, whereas thy corse doth rest,
With vapord eyes: from whence such streames auayl,
As Pyramus dyd on Thisbes brest bewail.

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