The dreary day in which they have from us yrent
The noblest plant that might from East to West be found.
Mourn! mourn great Philip's fall! mourn we his woeful end,
Whom spiteful death hath plucked untimely from the tree;
While yet his years in flower did promise worthy fruit.
Ah, dreadful Mars! why didst thou not thy knight defend?
What wrathful mood, what fault of ours hath moved thee,
Of such a shining light to leave us destitute?
Thou with benign aspect sometime didst us behold.
Thou hast in Britons' valour ta'en delight of old,