|p. 644] 
MS. Fairfax 4o. 289 
Bewaile bewaile this our great Monarchs fall 
Of Judgment perfait humour pleasing all 
His equal none a Hart w'*out all feare 
Perfection such t’would but fall short in prayse 
Enough to’ aue serued a World to’ aue admird here 
Had nott his equal Justice bound his wayes 
Lament lament this Sage & Prudent King 
Thatt hight of Bonty, vigelence in him | 
Thatt hart we could be mou'd not ouercome 
Virtues here rarely found though we inquire 
Parts I could sooner much admire then sume 
Sence this Achilis a Homer would require 
We caifiott count the Splendours of his Glorys 
Nor number yitt his signal victorys 
O no for such a subiect were too great 
We aught to prayse what yitt we cannot write 
And hold our peace or to good purpose speake 
He nothing saith doth not to th’ full recite 
His famous acts once raisd our drouping heads 
His Laurels from the temples was our shades 
End of his Combats ended feares wee’re in 
Him only pris’d dispis’d all other Powers 
More gloring to be subiect to this King 
Then if we’ad had some other Kings for ours 
But now this Glory’s clouded wt" a staine 
And now our joy & Mirth ther leaue hath taine 
The Lillys faide as we att this sad Fate 
Downe to the growne ther drouping heads doe bowe 
Seeming as humble as Compassionate 
To crowne his Tombe or else him homage doe 
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