Could there be words found to expresse my losse, There were some hope, that this my heauy crosse Might be sustained, and that wretched I Might once finde comfort: but to haue him die Past all degrees that was so deare to me; As but comparing him with others, hee Was such a thing, as if some Power should say I'le take Man on me, to shew men the way What a friend should be. But words come so short Of him, that when I thus would him report, 10 I am vndone, and hauing nought to say, Mad at my selfe, I throwe my penne away, And beate my breast, that there should be a woe So high, that words cannot attaine thereto. T'is strange that I from my abundant breast, Who others sorrowes haue so well exprest: Yet I by this in little time am growne So poore, that I want to expresse mine owne. I thinke the Fates perceiuing me to beare My worldly crosses without wit or feare: 20 Nay, with what scorne I euer haue derided, Those plagues that for me they haue oft prouided, Drew them to counsaile; nay, conspired rather, And in this businesse laid their heads together To finde some one plague, that might me subuert, And at an instant breake my stubborne heart; They did indeede, and onely to this end They tooke from me this more then man, or friend. Hard-hearted Fates, your worst thus haue you done, Then let vs see what lastly you haue wonne 30 By this your rigour, in a course so strict, Why see, I beare all that you can inflict: And hee from heauen your poore reuenge to view; Laments my losse of him, but laughes at you, Whilst I against you execrations breath; Thus are you scorn'd aboue, and curst beneath. Me thinks that man (vnhappy though he be) Is now thrice happy in respect of me, Who hath no friend; for that in hauing none He is not stirr'd as I am, to bemone 40 My miserable losse, who but in vaine, May euer looke to find the like againe. This more then mine own selfe; that who had seene His care of me where euer I had beene, And had not knowne his actiue spirit before, Vpon some braue thing working euermore: He would haue sworne that to no other end He had been borne: but onely for my friend. I had been happy if nice Nature had (Since now my lucke falls out to be so bad) 50 Made me vnperfect, either of so soft And yeelding temper, that lamenting oft, I into teares my mournefull selfe might melt; Or else so dull, my losse not to haue felt. I haue by my too deare experience bought, That fooles and mad men, whom I euer thought The most vnhappy, are in deede not so: And therefore I lesse pittie can bestowe (Since that my sence, my sorrowe so can sound)