Classic Poem

On the tragical and most vntimely deaths of Sir George Wharton. Knight, and Iames Steward Esquire, who slew each other in priuate single fight, on Thursday being the ninth of Nouember, 1609.
I F any (tragicke) longs t' extend the bounds
Of sorrow past the scope of saddest moode,
And with his pen write dry fresh deadly wounds
In lines that may (like torrents) flow with blood;
Or if he thirst to coole his hot desire
Of painting out disasters (drown'd in gore),
Or else would offer in Homerean fire,
An heccafombe of numerous-plaints therefore;
Then heeres occasion offerd; now's the time
Wherein he may be more than satisfide;
Here is the center for the rest of Rime,
That (circling) flowes with blood, in Sorrowes tide.
The eye of heauen did rowle the house about
Of that fell twi-formd Archer at the time
That this faire-feller accident fell out;
Whose double glory guilds a double crime!
Two foes of honord name in Honors bed,
(The field) desirde (like virgins newly wines)
To lose their valours lusty virgin-head;
And with it lost their fortunes, hopes and liues:
The one hight Wharton, noble in his name,
And his faire carriage in this blacke debate:
The other Steward; who, prouided fame
For both, but bought it at too deere a rate.
Now Wharton's gone, and Steward up hath giuen
His stewardship, with his last strict accounts;
And both (in fame at least) are now in Heau'n:
 ‘For fame, as farre as Heauen, staind life surmounts’
The one, an English honorable heire,
The other, of the Scottish royal race;
Yet one, became in furies seu'ring fire
And now are one become in Glories grace.
Then so made one why should their friends be more?
They well may grieue but haue no cause of hate;
Bloud on both sides alike salues Discords sore;
And should crackt-vnion more consolidate:
 Then on this ground of so rare vnion
 Sing Phœbus priests as rare deuision.