The bending trees exprest a grone, And sigh’d the sorow of his fall, The forrest beasts made ruthfull mone, (190) The birds did tune their mourning call, And Philomell for Astrophill, Vnto hir notes annext a phill.
The turtle doue + with tunes of ruthe, Shewd feeling passion of his death, (195) Me thought she said I tell thee truthe, Was neuer he that drew in breath, Vnto his loue more trustie found, Than he for whom our griefs abound.
The swan that was in presence heere, (200) Began his funerall dirge to sing, +Good things (quoth he) may scarce appeere, But passe away with speedie wing. This mortall life as death is tride, And death giues life, and so he di’de. +
(205) The generall sorrow that was made, Among the creatures of kinde, Fired the Phoenix where she laide, Hir ashes flying with the winde, So as I might with reason see, (210) That such a Phoenix nere should bee.
Haply the cinders driuen about, May breede an offspring neere that kinde, But hardly a peere to that I doubt, It cannot sinke into my minde, (215) That vnder branches ere can bee, Of worth and value as the tree.
The Egle markt with pearcing sight, The mournfull habite of the place,