recalls Dunbar's lament
Timor Mortis conturbat me.
Dust hath closed Helen's eye,
Worms feed on Hector brave.
Where are the lovely knights and the ladies of old time?
Autumn hath all the summer's fruitful treasure,
written in a time of pestilence, is another lament of Nash's, and
Go not yet away, bright soul of the sad year.
Peele has
His golden locks hath time to silver turned,
and the beautiful song of Bethsabe at the bath,
Hot sun, cool fire, tempered with sweet air.