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Richard Lovelace - To His Deare Brother Colonel F. L. Immoderately Mourning My
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                    I.
If teares could wash the ill away,
A pearle for each wet bead I`d pay;
But as dew`d corne the fuller growes,
So water`d eyes but swell our woes.

                    II.
One drop another cals, which still
(Griefe adding fuell) doth distill;
Too fruitfull of her selfe is anguish,
We need no cherishing to languish.

                    III.
Coward fate degen`rate man
Like little children uses, when
He whips us first, untill we weepe,
Then, `cause we still a weeping keepe.

                    IV.
Then from thy firme selfe never swerve;
Teares fat the griefe that they should sterve;
Iron decrees of destinie
Are ner`e wipe`t out with a wet eye.

                    V.
But this way you may gaine the field,
Oppose but sorrow, and `twill yield;
One gallant thorough-made resolve
Doth starry influence dissolve.
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