Yet still she liv’d and dy’d a Maid,
Doe what they could unto her.
And if that I had Argus eyes,
They were too few to weep,
For our sweet Queen Elizabeth,
Who now doth lye asleep:
Asleep I say she now doth lye,
Untill the day of Doome:
But then shall awake unto the disgrace
Of the proud Pope of Rome.