The greater that I feele my griefe to be,
The lesser able, am I to expresse it;
Such is the nature of extremitie,
The heart it som-thing eases, to confesse it.
Therefore Ile wake my muse, amidst her sleeping,
And what I want in wordes, supplie with weeping.
Weepe still mine eies, a Riuer full of Teares,
To drowne my Sorrowe in, that so molests me;
And rid my head of cares; my thoughts of feares: