Sith he then is so peereles fownd,
For hym lett bee the Laurell crowne,
And all the Birds of pleasaunt laye,
Therein lett them both syng and playe,
As itt weare ioygnyng all there noats,
Wth his sweet music and records.
O that, as nowe he sounds wth penn,
His lyvely voice myght sownd agayne.
But Natures debt we must pay all,
And soe he hath, and soe we shall.