Constant Penelope, sends to the
Careless Ulysses
Write not again but come
Sweet mate thy self, to revive me
Troy we do much envy
We desolate lost Ladies of Greece
Not Priamus, nor yet all
Troy can us recompense make
Oh, that he had when he first
Took shipping to Lacedemon, he
Paris that adulter, I mean, had been
Overwhelmed with waters
Then had I not lien now all alone
Thus quivering for cold
Nor used this complaint
Nor have thought the day to be so long