Classic Poem

Weepe, living thinges, of life the mother dyes;
The world doth loose the summ of all her blisse,
The quene of Earth, the empresse of the skyes;
By Marye's death mankind an orphan is:
Lett Nature weepe, yea, lett all graces mone,
Their glory, grace, and giftes dye all in one.

It was no death to her, but to her woe,
By which her joyes beganne, her greives did end;
Death was to her a frende, to us a foe,
Life of whose lives did on her life depende:
Not pray of death, but praise to death she was,
Whose uglye shape seemd glorious in her face.

Her face a heaven, two planettes were her eyes,
Whose gracious light did make our clearest day;
But one such heaven there was and loe! it dyes,
Deathe's darke eclipse hath dymmèd every ray:
Sunne, hide thy light, thy beames untymely shine!
Trew light sith wee have lost, we crave not thine.