If euer pitie moue a stonie eie,
Let her present our age for map of woe,
There see for food, how little infants crie,
Whom, parents wanting, what they would bestow,
With griefe are either forced to forgo,
Or else with weeping woe to sit them by,
Till faint for food before their face they die.
43.
The spouse, that wants to feed her fruitfull wombe,
Burying the babe, that neuer came from graue,