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Eleg. 21.
[But now my tongue can never make relation]
But now my tongue can never make relation,
What I sustain'd in my last foughten field;
My minde assailed with a three-fold passion,
Hope, Feare, Despaire, could unto neither yeeld.
Feare willed me to view the skies black colour,
Hope said, Vpon his hopefull vertues look;
Despaire shew'd me an universall dolour,
Yet fruitlesse doubt my hearts possession took:
But when I saw the Hearse, then I beleev'd,
And then my sorrow was at full, alas:
Beside, to shew I had not causelesse griev'd,
I was inform'd that he embowel'd was.
And 'twas subscrib'd, they found he had no gall,
Which I beleev'd, for he was sweetnesse all.
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