Raught in his rage vpon his frend so deare,
For which beholde, loe, how his panges appeare.
21.
The launsed speare hee wrythes out of the wound,
From which the purple bloud spins in[1591] his face:
His heynous gilt when hee returned found,
Hee throwes himselfe vpon the corps, alas,
And in his armes how oft doth hee imbrace
His murdred frend? and kissing him, in vayne
Forth flowe the fluds of salt repentant rayne.