Thence come wee to the horrour and the hell, The large great kingdoms, and the dreadfull raigne Of _Pluto_ in his throne where hee did dwell, The wide waste places, and the hugie playne: The waylings, shrikes, and sondry sorts of payne, The sighes, the sobs, the deepe and deadly groane, Earth, ayre, and all, resounding playnt and moane. 74.[1564] Heare pewled[1565] the babes, and here the maydes vnwed, With folded hands theyr sory chaunce bewayld: Here wept the guiltles slayne, and louers dead, That slew them selues when nothing els auayld: A thousand sorts of sorrows here, that waylde With sighs, and teares, sobs, shrikes, and all yfeare, That, oh,[1566] alas, it was a hell to heare.[1567] 75.[1568] Wee staide vs strait, and with a rufull feare, Beheld this heauy sight, while from myne eyes, The vapored tears downe stilled here and there, And _Sorrowe_ eke in far more wofull wise, Tooke on with plaint, vp heauing to the skies Her wretched hands, that, with her cry, the rout Gan all in heapes to swarme vs round about. 76. “Loe here,” quoth _Sorrow_, “princes of renoune, That whilom sate on top of fortune’s wheele, Now layde full low, like wretches whurled downe,[1569] Euen with one frowne, that slayde but with a smyle, And now beholde the thing that thou, erewhile, Saw onely in thought, and, what thou now shalt heere, Recompt the same to kesar, king, and peere.” 77. Then first came _Henry_ duke of _Buckingham_, His cloake of blacke all pilde, and quite forworne,[1570] Wringing his hands, and fortune oft doth blame, Which of a duke hath made him now her skorne: With gastly lookes, as one in maner lorne, Oft spred his armes, stretcht hands hee ioynes as fast, With rufull cheare, and vapored eyes vpcast. 78. His cloake hee rent, his manly brest hee beat, His hayre all torne, about the place it lay,[1571] My heart so molt to see his griefe so great, As felingly me thought, it dropt away: His eyes they whurld about withouten stay, With stormy sighes the place did so complayne, As if his heart at ech had burst in twayne. 79. Thrise hee began to tell his dolefull tale, And thrise the sighes did swallow vp his voyce, At ech of which hee shriked so withall, As though the heauens riued with the noyse: Tyll at the last, recouering his voyce, Supping the teares that all his brest beraynde, On cruell fortune, weeping, thus hee playnde. The Complaynt of _Henry_ Duke of Buckingham. 1.