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 mine 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 sufffer 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.