Whose deadly damp the worlds poore people kils.
Him leaue me (for a while) amids the heauens,
VVreaking his anger on his sturdie steedes:
Whose speedful course the day and night now eeuens,
(The earth dis-robed of her summer weedes)
And nowe black-mantled night with her browne vaile,
Couers each thing that all the world might quaile.
When loe, Cassandra lying at her rest,
(Her rest were restlesse thoughts:) it so befell,
Her minde with multitude of cares opprest,