Thou mighty Mars, the Lord of Soldiers brave,
And thou Mirnerve, that dost in wit excel,
And thou Apollo, who dost knowledge have
Of every Art that from Parnassus fell,
With all your Sisters that thereon do dwell,
Lament for him who duly serv'd you all:
Whom in you wisely all your Arts did mell,
Bewail (I say) his unexpected fall,
I need not in remembrance for to call
His Race, his Youth, the hope had of him ay,