38.
Men may therfore like Marmaydes euer mourne,
The shining sunne who do so much delight,
That aye they waile like furies quite forlorne:
When Sol doth shine, when Titan’s beames be bright,
They feare the stormes that may hereafter light,
They weepe because they must the sunne forgoe,
When stormes do fal, they wayle their present woe.
39.
So mortal man with malice al bested,