"We must resign; Heaven his great soul doth claim
In storms as loud as his immortal fame.
His dying groans, his last breath shakes our isle,
And trees uncut fall for his funeral pile;
About his palace their broad roots were tost
Into the air—so Romulus was lost.
New Rome in such a tempest mist their King,
And from obeying fell to worshipping.
"Nature herself took notice of his death,