[2600]But since that failed, days shall be chang'd to years,
Minutes to months, till paid his tribute tears.
I'll try if grief will drain his melting reins,
And hang a crutch upon his able back;
If sorrow will unblood his swelling veins
And make his sinews, shrunk with famine, crack.
I'll make a purgatory, where with hunger,
Frost, flame, and snow, I'll tame my virgin-monger.
I'll give command a dungeon shall be made,
To whose close womb the sun shall never pry,