Stress’d wandring I, am forc’d to drinke my pisse:
So turnes my food to smoake, the smoake to ashes
Which twice a night, we three do spend in flashes:
Last casts my face the skin, my skin the colour,
And spewing forth fled joyes, I drinke in dolour.
Thus with the Torrid Zone, am I opprest,
And lock’d twixt Tropickes two, which me invest.
Where for reliefe, I pierc’d the Heavens with cryes,
And cut the Clouds, to grieve the azure skies
With sighs and grones; yet carefull to regard