The frozen snake, oppressed with heaped snow,
By struggling hard gets out her tender head,
And spies far off, from where she lies below,
The winter sun that from the North is fled:
But all in vain she looks upon the light,
Where heat is wanting to restore her might.

What doth it help a wretch in prison pent,
Long time with biting hunger overpressed,
To see without, or smell within the scent
Of dainty fare, for others tables dressed?
Yet snake and pris'ner both behold the thing,
The which, but not with sight, might comfort bring.

Such is my state, or worse, if worse may be,
My heart oppressed with heavy frost of care;
Debarred of that which is most dear to me,
Killed up with cold, and pined with evil fare:
And yet I see the thing might yield relief,
And yet the sight doth breed my greater grief.

So Thisbe saw her lover through the wall,
And saw thereby she wanted that she saw:
And so I see, and seeing want withal,
And wanting so, unto my death I draw:
And so my death were twenty times my friend,
If with this verse my hated life might end.