Like as the doleful dove delights alone to be,
And doth refuse the bloomed branch, choosing the leafless tree,
Where one, wailing his chance, with bitter tears be spent,
Doth with his bill his tender breast oft pierce and all to rent.
Whose grievous groanings though, whose rips of pining pain,
Whose ghastly looks, whose bloody streams outflowing from each vein,
Whose falling from the tree, whose panting on the ground,
Examples be of mine estate, though there appears no wound.