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I.
If
teares could wash the ill away,
A pearle for each wet
bead I'd pay;
But as dew'd corne the fuller growes,
So water'd eyes but swell our woes.
II.
One
drop another cals, which still
(Griefe adding fuell)
doth distill;
Too fruitfull of her selfe is anguish,
We need no cherishing to languish.
III.
Coward
fate degen'rate man
Like little children uses, when
He whips us first, untill we weepe,
Then, 'cause we
still a weeping keepe.
IV.
Then from thy firme
selfe never swerve;
Teares fat the griefe that they
should sterve;
Iron decrees of destinie
Are ner'e
wipe't out with a wet eye.
V.
But this way you
may gaine the field,
Oppose but sorrow, and 'twill
yield;
One gallant thorough-made resolve
Doth
starry influence dissolve.
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