Sions Elegies: Threnodia II, Eleg. 11

Aunch forth my soule, into a sea of teares,
Whose ballanc'd bulke, no other Pilot steares,
Then raging sorrow, whose uncertaine hand,
Wanting her Compasse, strikes on every sand;
Driven with a storme of sighes, she seekes the Haven
Of rest, but like to Noahs wandring Raven,
She scowres the Maine: and, as a Sea-lost Rover,
She roames, but can no land of peace discover:
Mine eyes are faint with teares, teares have no end,
The more are spent, the more remaine to spend:
What Marble (ah) what Adamantine eye,
Can looke on Sions ruine, and not cry?