Tyron, that long disturber of her state,
With shame of his offence remorsefull grew,
And on his knees did then for mercie sue:
That dying, she might say with vading breath,
I left no foes vnuanquisht at my death.
459.
But woe, alas, the dust-borne pompe of earth,
Made thrall to death, returnes to dust againe;
All vnder heauen, that haue their beeing and breath
Of nature’s gift, no longer doe remaine,