On the Death of Sir Philip Sdney
by Henry Constable (1562-1613)

Give pardon blessèd soul, to my bold cries,
If they, importune, interrupt thy song,
Which now with joyful notes thou sing’st among
The angel-quiristers of th’ heavenly skies.
Give pardon eke, sweet soul, to my slow eyes,
That since I saw thee now it is so long,
And yet the tears that unto thee belong
To thee as yet they did not sacrifice.
I did not know that thou wert dead before,
I did not feel the grief I did sustain,
The greater stroke astonisheth the more,
Astonishment takes from us sense of pain,
   I stood amazed when others’ tears begun,
   And now begin to weep when they have done.

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