[p. 641] 
[p. 642] 
[p. 643} 
MS. Fairfax 4o. 287 
The teares of France for the 
deplorable death of Henry 4 
surnamed the Great 
Ah is itt then Great Henry soe fam’d 
For taming men himselfe by death is tam’d 
Whatt eye his glory saw now his sad doome 
But must desolue in Teares sigh out his Soule 
Soe small a shred of Earth should him intombe 
Whos acts deseru’d pocession of the whole 
O tis but fitt for joyes we henceforth mourne 
Our songes & mirth into sad plaints we turne 
Instead of this great King greefe may raigne here 
So thatt in sorrow plung’d our fainting breath 
May send our endless sighs to th’highst Sphere 
Whilst hopless teares distill vpon the earth 
Yis itt is fitt what else can we returne 
Butt teares as offrings to his sacred vrne 
Wth them his Sable Marble tombe bedew 
No no such armes too weake sence itt apeares 
For vs he of his blood too careless grew 
Haue we naught else for him butt a few teares 
O could our eyes to fontains we distill 
T’ Would nott abaite the least part of our ill 
We oft shed teares for simple wrongs oft weepe 
Too Comon oft for things of lesser prise 
Then lett vs die att this great Monarchs feet 
His Tombe th’ Alter, our selues, the sacrifice 
But who can die if Sisters Fate denies 
A closure to our half death trickling eyes 
Hauing shut vp those of this warrlike Prince 
Atropos so proud’s of her royal pray 
Her Cypriss into laurels will turne, Sence 
Of this great Victor she hath gott the day 
But sence we are ordain’d to sigh & liue 
And after this ther faitall stroke then giue 
Liue then complaining this sad shock of Fate 
Wher happy days are gone, no ioy appeares 
Then mourne & sigh till death our greefe abate 
And shew whilst liuing, Life shal wast in teares 
