I will instruct my sorrows to be proud For grief is proud an't makes his owner stoop

When sorrows come, they come not single spies. But in battalions!

When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions.

When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions!

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