Then did a sharped spyre of diamond bright,
Ten feete each way in square, appeare to mee,
Justly proportion'd up unto his hight,
So far as archer might his level see:
The top thereof a pot did seeme to beare,
Made of the mettall which we most do honour,
And in this golden vessell couched weare
The ashes of a mightie emperour:
Upon foure corners of the base were pight,
To beare the frame, foure great lyons of gold;
A worthy tombe for such a worthy wight.
Alas! this world doth nought but grievance hold.
I saw a tempest from the heaven descend,
Which this brave monument with flash did rend.