This caue is darke, but it had neuer light;
This waxe doth waste it selfe, yet painelesse dies;
These words are full of woes, yet feele they none
I darkned am, who once had clearest sight;
I waste my heart, which still new torments tries;
I plaine with cause, my woes are all mine owne.
No caue, no wasting waxe, no words of griefe,
Can hold, shew, tell my paines without reliefe.