Funerall Elegies: Eleg. 14

O But the dregs of flesh and bloud! How close
They grapple with my soule, and interpose
Her higher thoughts; which, yet but young of wing,
They cause to stoope and strike at every thing;
Passion present before their weakned eye,
Iudgement and better reason standing by:
I must lament, Nature commands it so:
The more I strive with teares, the more they flow;
These eyes have just, nay double cause of mone,
They weepe the cōmon losse; they weep their own:
He sleepes Indeed; then give me leave to weepe
Teares fully answerable to his sleepe.