How can that tree but withered be,
That wanteth sap to moist the root?
How can that vine but waste and pine,
Whose plants are trodden under foot?
How can that spray but soon decay,
That is with wild weeds overgrown?
How can that wight in aught delight,
Which shows and hath no good-will shown?
Or else how can that heart, alas,
But die, by whom each joy doth pass?