XXVII.

Hee has my Heaven (what would He more?) whose bright And radiant scepter this bold hand should beare: And for the never-fading fields of light, My faire inheritance, He confines me here To this darke house of shades, horrour and night, To draw a long-liv'd death, where all my cheere Is the solemnity my sorrow weares, That mankind's torment waits upon my teares.