Have all our passions certain proper vents,
And sorrow none that is her own,
  But she must borrow others' complements
To make her inward feelings known?
Are joy's delights and death's compassion shown
  With one like face and one lamenting part?
  Then only thou, poor heart,
     That know'st more reason why,
     Pine, fret, consume, swell, burst and die.