Come grief, possess that place thy Harbingers have seen,
And think most fit to entertain thy self;
Bring with thee all thy Troops, and sorrows longest Teem
Of followers, that wail for worldly pelf:
Here shall they see a Wight more lamentable,
Than all that Troop that seem most miserable.

For here they may discry, if perfect search be made,
The substance of that shadow causing woe:
An unkind Frost, that caused hopeful Sprous to fade;
Not onely mine, but others grief did grow
By my misdeed, which grieves me most of all,
That I should be chief cause of others fall.

For private loss to grieve, when others have no cause
Of sorrow, is unmeet for worthy mind;
For who but knows, that each mans sinful life still draws
More just revenge, than he on earth can find.
But to undo desert and innocence,
Is, to my mind, griefs chiefest pestilence.

I grieve not to look back into my former state,
Though different that were from present case;
I moan not future haps, though forced death with hat
Of all the world were blustred in my face.
But Oh I grieve to think that ever I
Have been a means of others misery.

When on my little Babes I think, as I do oft,
I cannot chuse but then let fall some tears:
Me-thinks I hear the little Pratler, with words soft,
Ask, Where is Father that did promise Pears,
And other Knacks, which I did never see,
Nor Father neither, since he promis'd me.

'Tis true, my Babe, thou never saw'st thy Father since,
Nor art thou ever like to see again:
That stopping Father into mischief which will pinch
The tender Bud, and give thee cause to plain
His hard dysaster; that must punish thee,
Who art from guilt as any Creature free.

But Oh! when she that bare thee, Babe, comes to my mind,
Then do I stand as drunk with bitterest woe,
To think that she, whose worth were such to all, should find
Such usage hard, and I to cause the blow,
Of her such sufferance, that doth pierce my heart,
And gives full grief to every other part.

Hence comes the cause, that each tear striveth to be first,
As if I meant to stint them of their course.
No salted meats: that done, you know my heart would burst
With violent assaults of your great force:
But when I stay you, 'tis for that I fear,
Your gushing so will leave me ne'er a tear.

But ah! this doubt, Grief says, I never need to fear,
For she will undertake t' afford me store;
Who in all her knowledge never cause of woe did hear
That gall'd her deeper, or gave witness more
Of earths hard usage, that does punish those,
That guiltless be, with Fortunes cruellest blows.

Though further cause of more than utterable grief,
As others loss, I could dilate at large,
Which I am cause of, yet her suffering being chief
Of all their woes, that sail in this deep Barge
Of sorrows Sea: I cannot but reflect
Hereon more deeply, and with more respect.

On which dear object when I look with grieved mind,
Such store of pities see I plead her case,
As hardest heart cause of compassion there would find,
To hear what could be said before that face,
Which I have worng'd in causing so to weep,
The grief whereof constrains my Pen to sleep.