Classic Poem

Sore plungde in greeuous paynes and wofull smarte,
Bedewed with trickling teares on Death like face:
Downe trylles the drops on cheekes & sighs from hart,
To heare and see her husbands dolefull case.
Thus goes thys spouse, the wofull I VLIA ,
Besprent with bloud, when P OMPEIS Cote she saw.

Downe dead she falles in lamentable sounde,
Of sence bereft (so great was sorrowes strayne)
The chylde conceyude within by deadly wounde,
Vntymely fruite came forth with pinching payne.
When all was done, for loue her lyfe she lost,
For P OMPEIS sake, shee yeelded vp her Ghost.

So dead she laye, bewaylde with many teares,
A Matrone wise, a famous Ornament:
O C ÆSAR she had seene full cheerefull yeares,
If thou with Pompey couldst haue bene content,
But ciuill warres hath wrought this fatall stryfe,
To Pompey death, to I VLIA losse of lyfe.