Ah I, poore I, distres’d,

[III. 111.]Oft changing to and fro,

Am forc’d to sing sad Obsequies

Or this my Swan-like wo.

A vagabonding Guest,

Transported here and there,

Led with the mercy-wanting winds

Of feare, griefe, and dispaire.

Thus ever-moving I,

To restlesse journeys thrald,