So a Chaonian Turtle when by death
From her deare Mate divorc't, sighes out her breath
In hollow murmurs, and her sorrow grones
Unto the wanton aire or sencelesse stones:
But if the sad bird should thy mourning see,
Her owne griefe shee'd forgett to grieve for thee.
No more thy forward passion teach to mourn,
Nor by thy weeping adde to th'watry urne
Of thy blest husbands sacred dust, forbeare
To drowne againe his ashes with a Teare,
Call back that sigh: shouldst thou continue thus,
The griefe you pay to him you'le need from us.
Learne those darke clowds of Sorrow to disperse,
Which if dissolv'd would overflow his hearse;
To inward silent flames these waters turne:
Those are weak griefes which drowne, the strongest burne.
But I repent my sin, and have done ill
To seek t'instruct thy eyes by their owne skill;
Thou art too knowing in this sadder art,
Thy eyes in waters, and in flames thy heart:
Rather faire Saint thy flame with skill inspire
To dry thy teares, thy teares to quench thy fire.