XXII. Sir John Beaumont

BEHOLD what riuers feeble nature spends,

And melts vs into seas at losse of friends:

Their mortall state this fountaine neuer dies,

But fills the world with worlds of weeping eies.

Man is a creature borne and nurst in teares,

He through this life the markes of sorrow beares,

And dying, thinkes he can no off’ring haue

More fit then teares distilling on his graue.

We must these floods to larger bounds extend;

Such streames require a high and noble end.

As waters in a chrystall orbe contain’d

Aboue the starry firmament, are chain’d

To coole the fury of those raging flames

Which eu’ry lower spheare by motion frames;

So this continuall spring within thy head

Must quench the fires in other members bred.

If to our Lord our parents had been true,

Our teares had been like drops of pleasing dew:

But sinne hath made them full of bitter paines,

Vntimely children of afflicted braines:

Yet they are chang’d, when we our sinnes lament,

To richer pearles then from the East are sent.