Witnesse may bee the manie a burning flame,
Made with the limbes of saints to mount on high,
Whose constant soules without the least exclaime,
In midst of death downe patientlie did lie,
And in bright flames did clime the clow’d-brow’d skie:
Yea, let Elizae’s woes in that blind age,
A witnesse bee of bloodie error’s rage.
4.
Whose deepe distresse and dolefull miserie,
I not assay to sing, but leaue the same