If now perhappes ye either loke to see
Th'unhappie lovers, or the cruell sire
Here to be buried as fittes their degree
Or as the dyeng ladie did require
Or as the ruthefull kinge in deepe despaire
Behight of late (who nowe himself hath slayen)
Or if perchaunse you stand in doutfull fere
Sithe mad Megera is not returnde againe
Least wandring in the world she so bestowe
The snakes that crall about her furious face
As they may raise new ruthes, new kindes of woe
Bothe so and there, and such as you percase
Wold be full lothe so great so nere to see
I am come forth to do you all to wete
Through grefe wherin the lordes of Salerne be
The buriall pompe is not prepared yet:
And for the furie, you shall onderstand
That neither doeth the litle greatest god
Finde such rebelling here in Britain land
Against his royall power as asketh rod
Of ruth from hell to wreke his names decaie
Nor Pluto heareth English ghostes complaine
Our dames disteyned lyves. Therfore ye maye
Be free from feare, sufficeth to maintaine
The vertues which we honor in you all,
So as our Britain ghostes when life is past
Maie praise in heven, not plaine in Plutoes hall
Our dames, but hold them vertuous and chast,
Worthie to live where furie never came,
Where love can see, and beares no deadly bowe,