Might minister releefe as they went by
To such as felt the selfsame malady,
95So haplesse lynes fly through the fairest land,
And if ye light into some blessed hand,
That hath a heart as merry as the shine
Of golden dayes, yet wrong'd as much as mine,
Pitty may lead that happy man to mee,
100And his experience worke a remedy
To those sad fittes which (spight of nature's lawes)
Torture a poore hart that out-lives the cause.