University of Virginia Library

THE RIDDLE.

Why then, a thing there is, quod she,
That breedeth many, deadly smart:
Which none can feele, nor heere, nor see,
And yet with greefe consumes the heart:
For which is founde none other ease,
But euen the cause of the disease:
Now this is my desire, (quoth she)
To be resolv'de what this may be?