When smaller Starres appeare, and give their light,
Phœbus is gone to bed: Were it not night,
5And the world witlesse now that Donne is dead,
You sooner should have broke, then seene my head.
Dead did I say? Forgive this Injury
I doe him, and his worthes Infinity,
To say he is but dead; I dare averre
10It better may be term'd a Massacre,
Then Sleepe or Death; See how the Muses mourne
Upon their oaten Reeds, and from his Vrne