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16.

Methought I saw the footsteps of a throneWhich mists and vapours from mine eyes did shroud,Nor view of him who sate thereon allow'd;But all the steps and ground about were strownWith sights the ruefullest that flesh and boneEver put on; a miserable crowd,Sick, hale, old, young, who cried before that cloud,"Thou art our king, O Death! to thee we groan."I seem'd to mount those steps; the vapours gaveSmooth way; and I beheld the face of oneSleeping alone within a mossy cave,With her face up to heaven; that seem'd to havePleasing remembrance of a thought foregone;A lovely Beauty in a summer grave!
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