That if one looks therein, one sees to pass
A multitude portrayed in every part,
As are the cares on cares that spring, alas!
From that cruel care, which from my shattered heart
Goes not away, though conqueror in the strife,
Until it doth depart along with life.
ELICIO.
The white snow of her cheek, the crimson rose
Which neither summer wastes nor winter's cold,
The sun's twain morning-stars, wherein repose