Bvt This , and then my Pen shall make aboade
In endlesse Rest : For, euen now the same
Goes, stradling, vnderneathe a heauie Loade:
For Heauinesse his forme doth quite vnframe.
Who sheddeth sable Teares, well mixt with Bryne,
To rue his owners sorrowes bitter state:
And maketh happlesse Blotts in eu'ry Line
To simbolize his Loue vnfortunate
The sincking Paper makes them, spreading, runne,
As Griefe runnes, spreading, in his sincking Hart:
Pen, Ynke, and Paper, then, are quite vndone,
(As is their Master) with sad Sorrowes smart:
And all that smart I feele through your disdaine,
Who wounds my Hart, with Loue, yet scornes my paine.