SAd Prodigy! Can famous valiant Grey
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Thus silently slide to his bed of Clay?
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Returne our sorrows, sigh we forth a Verse,
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May deck the Pomp, and mournings of his Herse.
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But twere detraction to suppose a Teare,
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A Sigh, or Blacks, which the sad Mourners weare,
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Our losse could value: He that names but thee,
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Must bring an Eye, that can weepe Elegie:
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Who in his face must weare a Funerall,
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Clouded with griefe for thy untimely fall.
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What ill aspected Planet then did lowre?
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Which then transcendent in that fatall houre?
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The splendent Sunne could not looke on and shine,
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Buts clouded, whiles thy glory did decline.
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Hath irefull Mars his spightfull influence bent
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Gainst his owne sonne? Hes still malevolent.
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Thy part thast acted well; but Tragedie
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Ill provd; having a sad Catastrophe.
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Thy sable Curtaine was too soon orespread,
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Even at thy noone to bring thee to thy bed.
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Unlucky hand, and heart with fury fird,
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Which passage made whereby thy soule expird.
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Yet we applaud the wisdome of thy fate,
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Which knew to value thee at such a rate,
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That for thy fall an Hecatombe it cost,
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And Mynne was offered to appease thy ghost.
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Thou needst no gilded Tombe, whereon tengrave,
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The name of worthy Grey, which thou shalt have,
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So long as Gloucster shall that name retaine,
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Besieged erst by Brittaines Charlemaigne.
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Thy conquering Arme made thy stout foe to yeeld;
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Thy Sword had wonne the Trophies in the field.
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