That she might look at will through every pore?

Then had I not been thus exiled from light,

As in the land of darkness, yet in light,

To live a life half dead, a living death, 100

And buried; but, oh yet more miserable!

Myself, my sepulchre, a moving grave;

Buried, yet not exempt,

By privilege of death and burial,

From worst of other evils, pains and wrongs; 105

But made hereby obnoxious more