And as if Mars did thunder, words did shower!
(Love speaks in heat, when 'tis in most Desire)
She made him mad, whose sight had him revived;
Now speaks he plainly! Storms past, the air is glide.
"Why was I made, to bear such woe and grief?
Why was I born, but in Love to be nourished?
Why then for Love (Love, of all virtues chief),
And I not pitied, though I be not cherished?
What! did my eyes offend in virtue seeing?