A mourning-song for the death of Sir Fulke Greville, Lord Brooke

Where shall a sorrow great enough be sought

For this sad ruin which the Fates have wrought,

Unless the Fates themselves should weep and wish

Their curbless power had been controlled in this?

For thy loss, worthiest Lord, no mourning eye

Has flood enough; no muse nor elegy

Enough expression to thy worth can lend;

No, though thy Sidney had survived his friend.

Dead, noble Brooke shall be to us a name

Of grief and honour still, whose deathless fame

Such Virtue purchased as makes us to be

Unjust to Nature in lamenting thee;

Wailing an old man's fate as if in pride

And heat of Youth he had untimely died.