Edward Farr, ed. Select Poetry of the Reign of Queen Elizabeth. 1845.
Extract from “Lachrymæ Lachrymarum”XXXIX. Joseph Hall
W
Did ever winter mourne in greene?
Had that long bowe been bent by day
That chased all our clouds away;
But now that it by night appeares,
It tells the deluge of our teares:
No marvell rainbowes shine by night,
When suns yshorne do lose their light.
Iris was wont to be, of old,
Heauen’s messenger to earthly mold;
And now she came to bring us down
Sad news of Henry’s better crowne.
And as the eastern star did tell
The Persian sages of that cell
Where Sion’s King was borne and lay,
And over that same house did stay;
So did this western breeze descry
Where Henry, prince of men, should die.
Lo! there this arch of heavenly state
Rais’d to the triumph of his fate;
Yet rais’d in dark of night, to showe
His glory should be with our woe.
And now, for that men’s mourning weed,
Reports a griefe not felt indeed;
The winter weepes and mournes indeed,
Though clothed in a summer-weed.