O heavy herse!
The heavens do melt in tears without remorse;
O careful verse!
"The feeble flocks in field refuse their former food,
And hang their heads as they would learn to weep;
The beasts in forest wail as they were wood,
Except the wolves, that chase the wand'ring sheep,
Now she is gone that safely did them keep:
The turtle on the bared branch
Laments the wound that Death did launch.