In that sad month, whose name at first begun From Rome’s _Augustus_, great _Octauius_ son, When heau’ns fierce dog, sterne Alhahor did rise To bait the lion in th’Olympian skies; Whose hot fier-breathing influence did cracke Our thirstie grandame Terrae’s aged backe: By wrathfull loue, thicke darted from the skie The thunder shafts of pestilence did flie: In top of heau’n he tooke his wreakfull stand Ore that great towne vpon the northerne strand. Of siluer Thamisis, vpon whose towres Downe dropt his shafts, as thicke as winter’s showres, Which daily did his indignation show In euery place, dispersing worlds of woe: Witnesse ye ghosts and spirits dolefull drerie, Vntimely sent by troopes to Charon’s ferrie, Leauing your limbes wrapt vp in sheets of clay, As dustie reliques of your liues decay: Yea, thou sweet genius of that ancient towne, Thou ladie of great Albion’s chiefe renowne; Of that sad time a witnesse maist thou bee, When death did take so many sonnes from thee; Whose funerall rites inconsolate alone, When thou vnkindly left, didst kindly mone, Who staid with thee, alas, to helpe thee mourne, And fled not from thee, leauing thee forlorne? Mongst whom, though I, strooke terror-sicke with dread Of heau’n’s hot plague, was one that from thee fled: Yet of thy sight I daily did partake, Which of thy woes a partner did me make: Not far from off that slimie southerne strand, By which with Isis, Thames runnes hand in hand, In that high mountaine countrie’s fruitfull soile, That nere in fight of forren foes tooke foile, Where those same famous stout men-mouing wood, Against the Norman conqueror boldly stood, Was my abode: when foule infection’s breath In Troynouant imploy’d the workes of death. There in this wofull time vpon a day, So soone as Tython’s loue-lasse gan display Her opall colours in her easterne throne; It was my chance in walking all alone, That ancient castle-crowned hill to scale, Which proudly ouerlookes the lowly vale, Where great _Elizae’s_ birth-blest palace stands, Gainst which great Thames cast vp his golden sands. There when I came, from thence I might descrie The sweetest prospects, that the curious eie Of any one did euer elsewhere see, So pleasant at that time they seem’d to mee: It is a choice selected plot of land, In which this ayrie mount doth towring stand; As if that nature’s cunning for the best, Had choicely pickt it out from all the rest: Beneath this loftie hill shot vp on high, A pleasant parke impaled round doth lie, In which the plaine so open lies to sight, That on this hill oft times with great delight That heau’nly queene, _Plantagenet’s_ great blood, The faire _Elizae’s_ selfe hath often stood, And seene the swift-foot dogs in eager chace