IV.

Looking aside I saw a stately Bed,
Adorned all with costly cloth of gold,
That might for anie princes couche be red*,
And deckt with daintie flowres, as if it shold
Be for some bride, her ioyous night to hold:  635
Therein a goodly virgine sleeping lay;
A fairer wight saw never summers day.
  [* Red, taken.]

I heard a voyce that called farre away,
And her awaking bad her quickly dight,
For lo! her bridegrome was in readie ray 640
To come to her, and seeke her loves delight: 
With that she started up with cherefull sight,
When suddeinly both bed and all was gone,
And I in languor left there all alone.

V.

Still as I gazed, I beheld where stood 645
A Knight all arm’d, upon a winged steed,
The same that was bred of Medusaes blood,
On which Dan Perseus, borne of heavenly seed,
The faire Andromeda from perill freed: 
Full mortally this knight ywounded was, 650
That streames of blood foorth flowed on the gras.

Yet was he deckt (small ioy to him, alas!)
With manie garlands for his victories,
And with rich spoyles, which late he did purchas
Through brave atcheivements from his enemies:  655
Fainting at last through long infirmities,
He smote his steed, that straight to heaven him bore,
And left me here his losse for to deplore.

VI.

Lastly, I saw an Arke of purest golde
Upon a brazen pillour standing hie, 660
Which th’ashes seem’d of some great prince to hold,
Enclosde therein for endles memorie
Of him whom all the world did glorifie: 
Seemed the heavens with the earth did disagree,
Whether should of those ashes keeper bee. 665

At last me seem’d wing-footed Mercurie,
From heaven descending to appease their strife,
The arke did beare with him above the skie,
And to those ashes gave a second life,
To live in heaven, where happines is rife:  670
At which the earth did grieve exceedingly,
And I for dole was almost like to die.

L’Envoy.

Immortall spirite of Philisides,
Which now art made the heavens ornament,
That whilome wast the worldes chiefst riches. 675
Give leave to him that lov’de thee to lament
His losse by lacke of thee to heaven hent*,
And with last duties of this broken verse,
Broken with sighes, to decke thy sable herse!
  [* Hent, taken away.]

And ye, faire Ladie! th’honor of your daies 680
And glorie of the world, your high thoughts scorne,
Vouchsafe this moniment of his last praise
With some few silver dropping teares t’adorne;
And as ye be of heavenlie off-spring borne,
So unto heaven let your high minde aspire, 685
And loath this drosse of sinfull worlds desire.