Poure downe poore eyes the teares of true distres,
Heare but oh heavnes the horror of my crye;
Iudge of the care that can haue no redres
Let mee not liue to see my louer dye;
In Sorrowes rules, like sorrow neuer redd,
Phillip, sweete knight swete Philip Sydney dead.

Paine more then Arte or Nature can oppres
Hell to the world to loose a heavnly frende;
Ioy is become but sorrow and distres
lif with my loue, let death and dolor end;
In bitter teares hath harte of honor bledd,
Past hope of healpe to see perfeccon dead.