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,