What barren droughts, forerunners of lean dearth,
Threaten to starve the plenty of the earth:
What horrid forms of darkness must affright
The sickly world, hast'ning to that long night
Where it must end. If there no portents are,
50No black eclipses for the Kalendar,
Our times sad annals will rememb'red be
I' th' loss of bright Northumberland and Thee:
Two stars of Court, who in one fatal year
By most untimely set drop'd from their sphere.