98
(680)For with the nightly linen that she wears (681)
He pens her piteous clamours in her head; (682)
Cooling his hot face in the chastest tears (683)
That ever modest eyes with sorrow shed. (684)
O, that prone lust should stain so pure a bed!
(685)
The spots whereof could weeping purify, (686)
Her tears should drop oh them perpetually.