My cares draw on mine everlasting night; 
In horror's sable clouds sets my life's sun; 
My life's sweet sun, my dearest comfort's light, 
Will rise no more to me whose day is done. 
I go before unto the Myrtle shades, 
To attend the presence of my world's Dear, 
And there prepare her flowers that never fades, 
And all things fit against her coming there. 
If any ask me why so soon I came, 
I'll hide her sin, and say it was my lot; 
In life and death I'll tender her good name; 
My life nor death shall never be her blot. 
Although this world may seem her deed to blame, 
Th'Elisean ghosts shall never know the same.