Whyle watchfulle hovered o'er their heades
Full manye a byrde of preye.
The sun behynde the darke darke cloudes
Dyd hyde each beamy raye,
As fearefulle to beholde the woe
That mark'd that doleful daye.
The thund'ring wyndes of heaven arose,
And rush'd from pole to pole,
As stryving to drowne the groanes and sighes
Of manye a dyeing soule.