O heavy herse!
Als Colin Clout she would not once disdain;
O careful verse!
"But now such happy cheer is turn'd to heavy chance,
Such pleasance now displac'd by dolor's dint;
All music sleeps, where Death doth lead the dance,
And shepheards' wonted solace is extinct.
The blue in black, the green in gray, is tinct;
The gaudy garlands deck her grave,
The faded flowers her corse embrave.