By such a burn as did but barely prick:
A little bleb, no bigger than a pease,
Upon his shoulder ’twas, that kill’d his ease,
Fever’d his heart, and made his breathing thick.
10
‘For which disaster hath he not been seen
This many a day at all in any place:
And thou, dear mistress,’ piped he, ‘hast not been
Thyself amongst us now a dreary space:
The pining mortals suffer from a dearth