Upon triumphant Chariot, passing rare,
In which my Sunne doth sit like Majestie,
And makes the day shew unto us more faire,
Whose cheerfulnes delights each mortall eye:
I rash, like to another Phaeton ,
With hare-braine hast too hastie lept thereon.
But for my boldnes deerly did I pay,
And had like plague (as he) for being ore-brave.
Yet though in equall fortune both did stay,
(For life he lost, and death she to me gave)
The punisher of both was not the same:
For he by Jove , and I by Love was slaine.