Divers thy death do diversely bemoan.
Some, that in presence of thy livelihed
Lurked, whose breasts envy with hate had sown,
Yield Caesar's tears upon Pompeius' head.
Some, that watchèd with the murderer's knife,
With eager thirst to drink thy guiltless blood,
Whose practice brake by happy end of life,
Weep envious tears to hear thy fame so good.
But I that knew what harbour'd in that head,
What virtues rare were temper'd in that breast,
Honour the place that such a jewel bred,
And kiss the ground whereas thy corse doth rest,
With vapour'd eyes: from whence such streams availe
As Pyramus did on Thisbe's breast bewail.