O might those sighes and teares returne againe

Into my breast and eyes, which I have spent,

That I might in this holy discontent

Mourne with some fruit, as I have mourn'd in vaine;

In my Idolatry what showres of raine　

Mine eyes did waste? what griefs my heart did rent?

That sufferance was my sinne; now I repent;

'Cause I did suffer I must suffer paine.

Th'hydroptique drunkard, and night-scouting thiefe,

The itchy Lecher, and selfe tickling proud　

Have the remembrance of past joyes, for reliefe

Of comming ills. To (poore) me is allow'd

No ease; for, long, yet vehement griefe hath beene

Th'effect and cause, the punishment and sinne.