Your griefull harmes doo you exasperate?
Torment your selfe with murthering complaints?
Straine your weake breast so oft, so vehemently?
Water with teares this faire alablaster?
With sorrowes sting so many beauties wound?
Come of so many Kings want you the hart
Brauely, stoutly, this tempest to resist?
Cl. My eu’lls are wholy vsupportable,
No humain force can them withstand, but death.
Eras. To him that striues nought is impossible.