Sonet 38

My teares might all the parched sands haue drench'd, Though Phaeton had vndone the liquide frame: Ile furnish Vulcans fornace with a flame, That like the Vestals fire was neuer quench'd. And though th'infected aire turmoil'd remaine, It by my sighes and cries may be refin'd: And if the bodie answer to the mind, If no earth were, mine might make th'earth againe: Though all the sauage flockes lay dead in heapes, With which th'Arabian desarts are best stor'd, My brest might many a fiercer beast affoord, If like themselues all cloath'd with monstrous shapes: And thus within my selfe I create so, A world with all the Elements of wo.