Them for their owne, and doe like sorrowe make: 
As for their owne begot, as they pretended
Hope in the issue, which should haue discended 60
From them againe; nor here doth end our sorrow,
But those of vs, that shall be borne to morrowe
Still shall lament them, and when time shall count,
To what vast number passed yeares shall mount,
They from their death shall duly reckon so,
As from the Deluge, former vs’d to doe. 

    O cruell Humber guilty of their gore,

I now beleeue more then I did before
The Brittish Story, whence thy name begun
Of Kingly Humber, an inuading Hun, 70
By thee deuoured, for’t is likely thou
With blood wert Christned, bloud-thirsty till now. 
The Ouse, the Done, and thou farre clearer Trent,
To drowne the SHEFFIELDS as you gaue consent,
Shall curse the time, that ere you were infus’d,
Which haue your waters basely thus abus’d. 
The groueling Boore yee hinder not to goe,
And at his pleasure Ferry to and fro. 
The very best part of whose soule, and bloud,
Compared with theirs, is viler then your mud. 80
But wherefore paper, doe I idely spend,
On those deafe waters to so little end,
And vp to starry heauen doe I not looke,
In which, as in an euerlasting booke,
Our ends are written; O let times rehearse
Their fatall losse, in their sad Aniuerse.

To the noble Lady, the Lady I.S. of worldly crosses

      Madame, to shew the smoothnesse of my vaine,
    Neither that I would haue you entertaine
    The time in reading me, which you would spend
    In faire discourse with some knowne honest friend,
    I write not to you.  Nay, and which is more,
    My powerfull verses striue not to restore,
    What time and sicknesse haue in you impair’d,
    To other ends my Elegie is squar’d. 
      Your beauty, sweetnesse, and your gracefull parts
    That haue drawne many eyes, wonne many hearts, 10
    Of me get little, I am so much man,
    That let them doe their vtmost that they can,
    I will resist their forces:  and they be
    Though great to others, yet not so to me. 
    The first time I beheld you, I then sawe
    That (in it selfe) which had the power to drawe
    My stayd affection, and thought to allowe
    You some deale of my heart; but you have now
    Got farre into it, and you haue the skill
    (For ought I see) to winne vpon me still. 20
      When I doe thinke how brauely you haue borne
    Your many crosses, as in Fortunes scorne,
    And how neglectfull you have seem’d to be,
    Of that which hath seem’d terrible to me,
    I thought you stupid, nor that you had felt
    Those griefes which (often) I haue scene to melt