A publicque peace our highe Iehoue hath wrought:
A priuate warre, with hate tweene man and man
...
O gold ! that goest in and out,
That rul'st and raignest at thy will;
thou, that bringest things about,
Why art thou absent from us still ?
...
Waking in my bed, I wept,
And silently complain'd;
The cares that on me crept
All hope of sleepe restrain'd,
...