A Dialogue-Antheme.

ALas, poore Death, where is thy glorie?
Where is thy famous force, thy ancient sting?
Alas poore mortall, void of storie,
Go spell and reade how I have kill'd thy King.
Poore death and who was hurt thereby?
Thy curse being laid on him, makes thee accurst.
Let losers talk: yet thou shalt die;
These arms shall crush thee.
Spare not, do thy worst▪
I shall be one day better then before:
Thou so much worse, that thou shalt be no more.