[The death of a favourite]

Old Men not staid with Age, Virgins with shame,
Late Wives with losse of Husbands, Mothers of Children,
Loosing all griefe in joy of his sad fall,
Runne quite transported with their cruelty:
These mounting at his head, these at his face,
These digging out his eyes, those with his braine,
Sprinkling themselves, their houses, and their friends:
Others are met, have ravish'd thence an arme,
And deale small pieces of the flesh for Favors;
These with a thigh; this hath cut off his hands;
And this his feete; these fingers, and these toes;
That hath his liver; he his heart; there wants
Nothing but roome for wrath, and place for hatred.
What cannot oft be done, is now ├┤re done.
The whole, and All of what was great Sejanus ,
And next to Caesar did possesse the world,
Now torne, and scatterd, as he needs no grave,
Each little dust covers a little part:
So lies he no where, and yet often buried.