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211 Why tell you me of moderation ? The grief is fine, full, perfect, that I taste, And violenteth in a sense as strong As that which causeth it: How can I moderate it? If I could temporize with my affection, Or brew it to a weak and colder palate, The like allayment could I give my grief; My love admits no qualifying dross: No more my grief, in such a precious loss.

26-iv. 4, 212

I do note, That grief and patience, rooted in him both, Mingle their spurs together.

Grow, patience! And let the stinking elder, grief, untwine His perishing root, with the increasing vine!

31-iv. 2.

I am not prone to weeping, as our sex
Commonly are; the want of which vain dew,
Perchance, shall dry your pities; but I have
That honourable grief lodged here, which burns
Worse than tears drown.

13-ii. l.

214 O how her eyes and tears did lend and borrow! Her eyes seen in the tears, tears in her eye; Both crystals, where they view'd each other's sorrow; Sorrow, that friendly sighs sought still to dry; But like a stormy day, now wind, now rain, Sighs dry her cheeks, tears make them wet again.


Weep I cannot,

But my

heart bleeds.

13–iii. 3.

216 O, how this mother swells up toward



P Spurs are the roots of trees.

9 A disease called the mother.

Hysterica passio!-down, thou climbing sorrow,
Thy element's below!

34–ii. 4. 217

I am a fool, To weep at what I am glad of.

1-iii. 1.

The tempest in my

mind Doth from my senses take all feeling else, Save what beats there.

34-iii. 4.


O, melancholy!
Who ever yet could sound thy bottom? find
The ooze, to shew what coast thy sluggish crare
Might easiliest harbour in ?

31-iy. 2.

Grief hath changed me since you saw me last;
And careful hours, with Time's deformed hand,
Have written strange defeatures' in my face.


221 The incessant care and labour of his mind Hath wrought the mure,' that should confine it in, So thin, that life looks through, and will break out.

19-iv. 4.

0, what a noble combat hast thou fought,
Between compulsion and a brave respect!
Let me wipe off this honourable dew,
That silvery doth progress on thy cheeks.
My heart hath melted at a lady's tears,
Being an ordinary inundation;
But this effusion of such manly drops,
This shower, blown up by tempest of the soul,
Startles mine eyes, and makes me more amazed
Than had I seen the vaulty top of heaven
Figured quite o'er with burning meteors.

Alteration of features. s Worked the wall.

t Love of country.

Lift up thy brow,
And with a great heart heave away this storm:
Commend these waters to those baby eyes
That never saw the giant world enraged;
Nor met with fortune other than at feasts,
Full warm of blood, of mirth, of gossiping.

16-v. 2. 223

Nobly he yokes
A smiling with a sigh: as if the sigh
Was that it was, for not being such a smile ;
The smile mocking the sigh, that it would fly
From so divine a temple, to commix
With winds, that sailors rail at.


Even such a passion doth embrace my bosom:
My heart beats thicker than a feverous pulse;
And all my powers do their bestowing lose
Like vassalage at unawares encount'ring
The eye of majesty.

26-iii. 2. 225

Grieved I, I had but one?
Chid I for that at frugal nature's frame ?"
0, one too much by thee! Why had I one?
Why ever wast thou lovely in my eyes ?
Why had I not with charitable hand,
Took up a beggar's issue at my gates;
Who smirched' thus, and mired with infamy,
I might have said, No part of it is mine,
This shame derives itself from unknown loins?
But mine, and mine I loved, and mine I praised,
And mine that I was proud on; mine so much,
That I myself was to myself not mine,
Valuing of her; why, she—0, she is fallen
Into a pit of ink! that the wide sea
Hath drops too few to wash her clean again;
And salt too little, which may season give
To her foul tainted flesh.

6--iv. 1.

" Disposition of things.



Being that I flow in grief, The smallest twine may lead me."

6-iv. I.

227 Tell me, what is 't that takes from thee Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep? Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth; And start so often, when thou sit'st alone ? Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks; And given my treasures, and my rights of thee, To thick-eyed musing, and cursed melancholy? In thy faint slumbers I by thee have watch'd, And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars, And all the currents of a heady fight. Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war, And thus hath so bestirr'd thee in thy sleep, That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow, Like bubbles in a late disturbed stream: And in thy face strange motions have appear'd, Such as we see, when men restrain their breath On some great sudden haste. O what portents are these?

18-ii. 3.

228 Give me no help in lamentation, I am not barren to bring forth laments: All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes, That I, being govern’d by the watery moon, May send forth plenteous tears to drown the world!

24-ii. 2. 229

Why do you keep alone, Of sorriest fancies your companions making ? Using those thoughts, which should indeed have died With them they think on?

15-iii. 2.

" This is one of our author's observations upon life. Men over. powered with distress, eagerly listen to the first offers of relief, close with every scheme, and believe every promise. He that has no longer any confidence in himself, is glad to repose his trust in any other that will undertake to guide him.

* Occurrences.

3 Drops.

230 His tears run down his beard, like winter's drops From eaves of reeds.

1-v. 1.

231 One of those odd tricks, which sorrow shoots Out of the mind.

30-iv. 2.

232 We scarce thought us bless’d, That God hath sent us but this only child; But now I see this one is one too much, And that we have a curse in having her. 35-iii. 5.


There's something in his soul, O’er which his melancholy sits on brood; And, I do doubt, the hatch, and the disclose, Will be some danger.

36-iii, 1, 234 Gracious words revive my drooping thoughts, And give my tongue-tied sorrows leave to speak.

23-iii. 3.

235 Do not seek to take your change upon you, To bear your griefs yourself, and leave me out.


236 I have this while with leaden thoughts been press’d; But I in a more continuate time, Strike off this score of absence.

37-iii. 4.


Mourn I not for thee, And with the southern clouds contend in tears; Their's for the earth's increase, mine for my sorrows?

22- iii. 2. 238

Play me that sad note I named my knell, whilst I sit meditating On that celestial harmony I go to

25-iv. 2,


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