By him lay heauy Sleepe, the[1533] cosin of Death,
Flat on the ground, and still as any stone,
A very corps, saue yelding forth a breath:
Smale kepe tooke hee, whome fortune frowned on,
Or whom shee lifted vp into the throne
Of high renoune, but, as a liuing death,
So, dead aliue, of life hee drew the breath.
42.
The bodie’s rest, the quiet of the hart
The trauailes ease, the still night’s feere was hee: