Drop downe their exhalations from the skies:
And Tithon’s bride new rising from her bed,
Beholds their leaudnesse with a blushing red.
135.
Yet to my plaints no pitie they do yeeld:
But bent to adde more griefe to my disgrace,
In rustie murren with foule water fill’d,
A villaine comes with hands vncleane and base,
To shaue the heare both from my head and face:
Who, when warme water I desire to haue,