OLD KING STOUTGILD
O hoaried feet did cast thy princely tread,
On star-dew'd ground knit tight with sorrows sewn,
Over a kinship lost and kingdom fled.
Away! away! thou errant drake hast flown,
In a bratchet's basket thou made'st thy throne--
Of its sweet suckled milk the poets write,
For thy gold's grave lay in that cup of night.
--Wilm Waddlewit (fl. 1570s)