The whole effect of Nature’s plaint,
When she had lost the perfect mould, 15
The like to whom she could not paint:
With wringing hands how she did cry,
And what she said, I know it, I.
I know she swore with raging mind,
Her kingdom only set apart, 20
There was no loss by law of kind
That could have gone so near her heart;
And this was chiefly all her pain: