For, from his grief, the world might truly borrow:
As he lay speechless grovelling, all undressed;
So they stood weeping, Silence was their best.
Ismenio with these Ladies bare a part,
And much bemoaned him, though he knew not why;
But kind compassion struck him to the heart,
To see him mad. Much better see one die!
Thus walks Ismenio, and yet oft did pause,
At length, a writing made him know the cause.
He read, till words, like thunder, pierced his heart;