WAS ever nightly rainbowe seen? | |
| 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, | 5 |
| 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; | 10 |
| 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, | 15 |
| 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; | 20 |
| 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, | 25 |
| Though clothed in a summer-weed. | |
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