Where’er thou art, ah! pity, comfort me;
And if not in thine own entirety,
Yet come before mine eyes a moment’s space
In some sweet dream that shadoweth thy grace.
Lament XI
«Virtue is but a trifle!» Brutus10 said
In his defeat; nor was he cozenèd.
What man did his own goodness e’er advance
Or piety preserve from evil chance?
Some unknown foe confuses men’s affairs;