Diella :: :: University of Virginia Library

Rough stormes haue calmes, lopt boughes do grow againe,
the naked winter is recloth'd by spring,
No yeare so due, but there doth fall some raine,
Nature is kind (saue me) to euery thing,
Onely my griefes do neuer end nor cease,
no ebbe doth followe my still-flowing teares,
My sighes, are stormes which neuer can appease
their furious blastes procur'd by endlesse cares,
Then sighes and sobs, tell Tantalus he's blest,
goe flye to Titius tell him hee hath pleasure,
So tell Ixion though his wheele ne're rest,
their paines are sports imposed with some measure
Bid them be patient, bid them looke on me,
And they shall see the Map of miserie.