I.

Ye heavenly spirites, whose ashie cinders lie Under deep ruines, with huge walls opprest, But not your praise, the which shall never die Through your faire verses, ne in ashes rest; If so be shrilling voyce of wight alive May reach from hence to depth of darkest hell, Then let those deep abysses open rive, That ye may understand my shreiking yell! Thrice having seene under the heavens veale Your toombs devoted compasse over all, Thrice unto you with lowd voyce I appeale, And for your antique furie here doo call, The whiles that I with sacred horror sing Your glorie, fairest of all earthly thing!