Might in the ground be closed up in rest!
For never henceforth shall I joy again,
Never, O never, shall I see more joy!
Rich. I cannot weep; for all my body’s moisture
80 Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart:
Nor can my tongue unload my heart’s great burthen;
[♦] For selfsame wind that I should speak withal
[♦] Is kindling coals that fires all my breast,
And burns me up with flames that tears would quench.
85 To weep is to make less the depth of grief: