Every one can master a grief but he that has it

Grief makes one hour ten

O, grief hath changed me since you saw me last, And careful hours, with Time's deformed hand, Have written strange defeatures in my face.

My grief lies all within, And these external manners of lament Are merely shadows to the unseen grief That swells with silence in the tortured soul

This grief is crowned with consolation, you old smock brings forth a new petticoat, and indeed the tears live in an onion that should water this sorrow.

If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine, Thou robb'st me of a moiety.