My Cynthia hath the waters of mine eyes 
The ready handmaids on her grace attending 
That never fall to ebb, nor ever dries, 
For to their flow she never grants an ending. 
Th'Ocean never did attend more duly 
Upon his Sovereign's course, the night's pale Queen, 
Nor paid the impost of his waves more truly, 
Than mine to her in truth have ever been. 
Yet nought the rock of that hard heart can move, 
Where beat these tears with zeal, and fury driveth; 
And yet I rather languish in her love 
Than I would joy the fairest she that liveth. 
I doubt to find such pleasure in my gaining 
As now I taste in compass of complaining.