But when them sorow paineth,
So riddes their soules of all distresse
Whose heauie weight did them oppresse,
That not one griefe remaineth.
Who feareles and with courage bolde
Can Acherons black face beholde,
Which muddie water beareth:
And crossing ouer, in the way
Is not amaz’d at Perruque gray
Olde rustie Charon weareth: