VVinken
Gorbo, my Comfort is accloyd with care,
A new mishap my wonted ioyes hath crost:
Then meruaile not although my musicke iarre,
When she the Author of her mirth hath lost,
Elphin is dead, and in his graue is laid,
Our liues delight whilst louely Elphin liued,
What cruell fate hath so the time berraid,
The widow world of all her ioyes depriued.
O cursed death, Liues fearsull enemie,
Times poysned sickle: Tyrants reuenging pride:
Thou blood-sucker, Thou childe of infamie:
Deuouring Tiger: slaughtering homicide:
Ill hast thou done, and ill may thee betide.
Naught hast thou got, the earth hath wonne the most,
Nature is payd the interest of her due,
Pan hath receau'd, what him so dearly cost,
O heauens his vertues doe belong to you.