Therefore the cause that the bright sun doth rest
At the low point of the declining West—
When his oft wearied horses breathless pant—
Is to refresh himself with this sweet Plant,
Which wanton Thetis from the West doth bring,
To joy her love after his toilsome ring:
For ’tis a cordial for an inward smart,
As is Dictamnum[27] to the wounded hart.
It is the sponge that wipes out all our woe;
’Tis like the thorn that doth on Pelion grow,