Yf teares avayle to ease the gryved mynde
or weepinge could our frowarde fate amende
What under heaven mor prætious could wee fynd
then those deare dropps that from our eyes discend
For yf in them such sweete effects weare fownde
Amydste our cares our comforts wolde abounde.

The waylinge turtle sone would ease hir griefe
and call againe hir mate shee loved so well
The wounded deare would lykewise fynde releife
by those moiste dropps that on his cheeks do swell
And I poore soule would give myne eyes theyr fill
Yff with my teares my harmes myght so distill.