Lastly, I saw an Arke of purest golde
Upon a brazen pillour standing hie, 660
Which th’ashes seem’d of some great prince to hold,
Enclosde therein for endles memorie
Of him whom all the world did glorifie:
Seemed the heavens with the earth did disagree,
Whether should of those ashes keeper bee. 665
At last me seem’d wing-footed Mercurie,
From heaven descending to appease their strife,
The arke did beare with him above the skie,
And to those ashes gave a second life,
To live in heaven, where happines is rife: 670
At which the earth did grieve exceedingly,
And I for dole was almost like to die.
_L’Envoy._
Immortall spirite of Philisides,
Which now art made the heavens ornament,
That whilome wast the worldës chiefst riches. 675
Give leave to him that lov’de thee to lament
His losse by lacke of thee to heaven hent*,
And with last duties of this broken verse,
Broken with sighes, to decke thy sable herse!
[* _Hent_, taken away.]
And ye, faire Ladie! th’honor of your daies 680
And glorie of the world, your high thoughts scorne,
Vouchsafe this moniment of his last praise
With some few silver dropping teares t’adorne;
And as ye be of heavenlie off-spring borne,
So unto heaven let your high minde aspire, 685
And loath this drosse of sinfull worlds desire.