That it engluts and swallows other sorrows,
And it is still itself.

189

37-i. 3.

When my heart,

As wedged with a sigh, would rive* in twain;
Lest Hector or my father should perceive me,
I have (as when the sun doth light a storm)
Bury'd this sigh in wrinkle of a smile:
But sorrow that is couch'd in seeming gladness,
Is like that mirth, fate turns to sudden sadness.

190

26-i. 1.

Sorrow, like a heavy-hanging bell,
Once set on ringing, with his own weight goes:
Then little strength rings out the doleful knell.

191

'Tis with my mind As with the tide, swell'd up unto its height, That makes a still-stand, running neither way.

192

Poems.

19-ii. 3.

Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast. 17-ii. I.

193

Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul;
And there I see such black and grained spots,

As will not leave their tinct.t

194

My mind is troubled, like a fountain stirr'd;
And I myself see not the bottom of it.

195

36-iii. 4.

26-iii. 3.

Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring;

Your tributary drops belong to woe,

Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy.

35-iii. 2. 196

My heart is great; but it must break with silence, Ere't be disburden'd with a liberal* tongue.

197

17-ii. 1.

There's nothing in this world, can make me joy :

Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale,†

Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man.

16-iii. 4.

198

Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud,

22-iii. 1.

199

O, you kind gods,

And caterpillars eat my leaves away.

Cure this great breach in his abused nature!

The untuned and jarring senses, O, wind up
Of this child-changed father !

200

34-iv. 7.

As the wretch, whose fever-weaken'd joints,
Like strengthless hinges buckle‡ under life,
Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire

Out of his keeper's arms; even so my limbs,
Weaken'd with grief, being now enraged with grief,
Are thrice themselves.

201

Our strength is all gone into heaviness,
That makes the weight!

202

19-i. 1.

30-iv. 13.

Grief fills the room up of my absent child,
Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me;
Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words,
Remembers me of all his gracious parts,
Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form ;
Then have I reason to be fond of grief.

203

O, if thou teach me to believe this sorrow,
Teach thou this sorrow how to make me die;
And let belief and life encounter so,
As doth the fury of two desperate men,
Which, in the very meeting, fall and die.

204

Even through the hollow eyes of death,

I spy life peering; but I dare not say
How near the tidings of our comfort is.

16-iii. 1.

17-ii. 1.

205

The last she spake

Was, Antony! most noble Antony!
Then in the midst of a tearing groan did break
The name of Antony; it was divided

Between her heart and lips.

206

I never saw a vessel of like sorrow,

30-iv. 12.

So fill'd, and so becoming.

13-iii. 3.

207

Are you like the painting of a sorrow,

A face without a heart?

36-iv. 7.

208

Look, who comes here! a grave unto a soul;
Holding the eternal spirit against her will,
In the vile prison* of afflicted breath.

16-iii. 4.

4-iii. 1.

Ah, cut my lace asunder !

That my pent heart may have some scope to beat,

Or else I swoon with this dead-killing news.

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.

212

I do note,

26-iv. 4.

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 !

213

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.

214

13-ii. 1.

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.

Poems.

215

Weep I cannot,

But my heart bleeds.

13-iii. 3.

216

O, how this mothert swells up toward my heart!

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

34-ii. 4.

217

I am a fool,

1-iii. 1.

To weep at what I am glad of.

218

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

219

34-iii. 4.

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

220

31-iv. 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

14-v. 1.

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.

222

19-iv. 4.

O, 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 I had seen the vaulty top of heaven
Figured quite o'er with burning meteors.