181 [from The Countesse of Pembrokes Arcadia]
Then do I thinke in deed, that better it is to be private
In sorrows torments, then, tyed to the pompes of a pallace,
Nurse inwarde maladyes, which have not scope to be breath’d out.
But perforce disgest, all bitter juices of horror
5 In silence, from a mans owne selfe with company robbed.
Better yet do I live, that though by my thoughts I be plunged
Into my lives bondage, yet may disburden a passion
(Opprest with ruinouse conceites) by the helpe of an outcrye:
Not limited to a whispringe note, the Lament of a Courtier.
10 But sometimes to the woods somtimes to the heavens do decyphire
With bolde clamor unheard, unmarckt, what I seeke what I suffer:
And when I meete these trees, in the earths faire livory clothed,
Ease I do feele (such ease as falls to one wholly diseased)
For that I finde in them parte of my estate represented.