25Like Lambs that see their teats, and must eat Hay,
A food, whose tast hath made me pine away.
Dives, when thou saw'st blisse, and crav'dst to touch
A drop of water, thy great paines were such.
Here griefe wants a fresh wit, for mine being spent,
30And my sighes weary, groanes are all my rent;
Vnable longer to indure the paine,
They breake like thunder, and doe bring down rain.
Thus, till dry teares soulder mine eyes, I weepe;