He sighed, till Sorrow seemed itself to mourn;
He wept till tears like ysacles [icicles] did part,
He pitied so, that pity, hate did scorn.
He read to sigh, and weep for pity's sake;
The less he read, the less his heart did quake.
At length resolved, he up the writing takes
And to the Ladies travails as with child;
The birth was Love, such love as discord makes,
The midwife Patience; thus in words full mild,
He writ with tears that which with blood was writ;