Astrophel and Stella: 20

Flie, fly, my friends, I haue my death wound; fly,See there that boy, that murthering boy I say,Who like a thiefe, hid in the dark bush doth ly,Till bloudie bullet get him wrongfull pray.So Tyrant he no fitter place could spie,Nor so faire leuell in so secret stay,As that sweete black which vailes the heaun'ly eye:There himselfe with his shot he close doth lay.Poore passenger, passe now thereby I did,And staid pleas'd with the prospect of the place,While that blacke hue from me the bad guest hid:But straight I saw motions of lightning grace,And then descried the glistring of his dart:But ere I could flie thence, it pierc'd my heart.