Alexander Neville's Answer to the same.

The plunged mind in floods of griefs,
the senses drowned quite,
The heart oppressed, the flesh consumed,
the changed state outright,
The body dried by broiling blaze
of privy scorching flame,
The doleful face, the countenance sad,
the drooping courage tame,
The scalding sighs, the grievous groans,
the burning rage of fire,
The earnest suit, the fruitless toil,
the deep and hot desire,
The brains quite bruised and crushed with cares,
the ever-during sore,
The very pains of hell itself,
with thousand mischiefs more,
Which wounded hearts enflamed with love
with grief do overflow,
And works their endless plague and spite
till death from thence do grow:
All these conclude him blessed (my Googe)
and treble blessed again,
That taught by tract of time can take
such fading toys for vain.