A VALEDICTION OF WEEPING.

LET me pour forth

My tears before thy face, whilst I stay here,

For thy face coins them, and thy stamp they bear,

And by this mintage they are something worth.

For thus they be

Pregnant of thee ;

Fruits of much grief they are, emblems of more ;

When a tear falls, that thou fallst which it bore ;

So thou and I are nothing then, when on a divers shore.

On a round ball

A workman, that hath copies by, can lay

An Europe, Afric, and an Asia,

And quickly make that, which was nothing, all.

So doth each tear,

Which thee doth wear,

A globe, yea world, by that impression grow,

Till thy tears mixd with mine do overflow

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(＞人＜；)