Barking Anubis, Apis bellowing.
Tell him, my soule burning, impatient,
Forlorne with loue of him, for certaine seale
Of her true loialtie my corpse hath left,
T’ encrease of dead the number numberlesse.
Go then, and if as yet he me bewaile,
If yet for me his heart one sign fourth breathe
Blest shall I be: and farre with more content
Depart this world, where so I me torment.
Meane season vs let this sadd tombe enclose,