“And here wise Curius, companion
Of noble vertues, lives in endles rest; 610
And stout Flaminius, whose devotion
Taught him the fires scorn’d furie to detest;
And here the praise of either Scipion
Abides in highest place above the best,
To whom the ruin’d walls of Carthage vow’d, 615
Trembling their forces, sound their praises lowd.

“Live they for ever through their lasting praise! 
But I, poore wretch, am forced to retourne
To the sad lakes that Phoebus sunnie rayes
Doo never see, where soules doo alwaies mourne; 620
And by the wayling shores to waste my dayes,
Where Phlegeton with quenchles flames doth burne;
By which iust Minos righteous soules doth sever
From wicked ones, to live in blisse for ever.

“Me therefore thus the cruell fiends of hell, 625
Girt with long snakes and thousand yron chaynes,
Through doome of that their cruell iudge compell,
With bitter torture and impatient paines,
Cause of my death and iust complaint to tell. 
For thou art he whom my poore ghost complaines 630
To be the author of her ill unwares,
That careles hear’st my intollerable cares.

“Them therefore as bequeathing to the winde,
I now depart, returning to thee never,
And leave this lamentable plaint behinde. 635
But doo thou haunt the soft downe-rolling river,
And wilde greene woods and fruitful pastures minde,
And let the flitting aire my vaine words sever.” 
Thus having said, he heavily departed
With piteous crie that anie would have smarted. 640

Now, when the sloathfull fit of lifes sweete rest
Had left the heavie Shepheard, wondrous cares
His inly grieved minde full sore opprest;
That balefull sorrow he no longer beares
For that Gnats death, which deeply was imprest, 645
But bends what ever power his aged yeares
Him lent, yet being such as through their might
He lately slue his dreadfull foe in fight.

By that same river lurking under greene,
Eftsoones* he gins to fashion forth a place, 650
And, squaring it in compasse well beseene**,
There plotteth out a tombe by measured space: 
His yron-headed spade tho making cleene,
To dig up sods out of the flowrie grasse,
His worke he shortly to good purpose brought, 655
Like as he had conceiv’d it in his thought.
  [* Eftsoones, immediately.]
  [** Well beseene, seemly.]

An heape of earth he hoorded up on hie,
Enclosing it with banks on everie side,
And thereupon did raise full busily
A little mount, of greene turffs edifide*; 660
And on the top of all, that passers by
Might it behold, the toomb he did provide
Of smoothest marble stone in order set,
That never might his luckie scape forget.
  [* Edifide, built.]