Pouring forth tears at such a lavish rate
That, were the world on fire, they might have drowned
The wrath of heaven, and quenched the mighty ruin.”
Cowley makes a sighing lover sigh in an excessively gusty manner:
“By every wind that comes this way,
Send me at least a sigh or two,
Such and so many I’ll repay
As shall themselves make winds to get to you.”
But Shakespeare, who always surpasses, unites the tears and sighs, and makes a perfect rain tempest:
“Aumerle, thou weepest, my tender-hearted cousin!