Proving you were cater-cousins,
Kith and kindred, king and you!
Whereas do I ne'er so little
(Thanks to sherris), leave ajar
Bosom's gate—no jot nor tittle
Grow we nearer than we are.
Sinning, sorrowing, despairing,
Body-ruined, spirit-wrecked,—
Should I give my woes an airing,—
Where 's one plague that claims respect?