How shallow ev'n the deepest sea,
When thus we ebbe away?
But how shall I (that is
My fainting earth) looke pale at this?
Disjointed on the racke of paine.
How shall I murmur, how complaine;
And craving all the ayde of skill,
Finde none, but what must kill?
Which way so ere my griefe
Doth throw my sight to court releese,