10871087And seems to point her out where she sits weeping;
10881088To whom she sobbing speaks, "O eye of eyes,
10891089Why pry'st thou through my window? Leave thy peeping,
10901090Mock with thy tickling beams eyes that are sleeping,
10911091Brand not my forehead with thy piercing light,
10921092For day hath naught to do what's done by night."
10941094True grief is fond and testy as a child
10951095Who, wayward once, his mood with naught agrees.
10961096Old woes, not infant sorrows, bear them mild:
10971097Continuance tames the one; the other, wild,
10981098Like an unpracticed swimmer plunging still,
10991099With too much labor drowns for want of skill.
11011101Holds disputation with each thing she views,
11021102And to herself all sorrow doth compare;
11031103No object but her passion's strength renews,
11041104And as one shifts, another straight ensues.
11051105Sometime her grief is dumb and hath no words,
11061106Sometime 'tis mad and too much talk affords.
15911071107The little birds that tune their morning's joy
11081108Make her moans mad with their sweet melody,
11091109For mirth doth search the bottom of annoy;
11101110Sad souls are slain in merry company;
11111111Grief best is pleased with grief's society.
11121112True sorrow then is feelingly sufficed
11131113When with like semblance it is sympathized.
11151115He ten times pines that pines beholding food;
11161116To see the salve doth make the wound ache more;
11171117Great grief grieves most at that would do it good;
11181118Deep woes roll forward like a gentle flood
11191119Who, being stopped, the bounding banks o'erflows;
11201120Grief dallied with nor law nor limit knows.