What bird, I pray thee, hast thou seen that prunes
Himself of late? Did any cheerful note
Come to thine ears, or gladsome sight appear
Unto thine eyes, since that same fatal hour?
Hath not the air put on his mourning coat,
And testified his grief with flowing tears?
Sith then, it seemeth each thing to his power,
Doth us invite to make a sad consort:
Come let us join our mournful song with theirs!
Grief will indite, and sorrow will enforce