The Unfortunate Traveller

Why (quoth I), myself that am but a poor childish well-willer of yours, with the very thought that a man of your desert and state by a number of peasants and varlets should be so injuriously abused in hugger-mugger, have wept all my urine upwards. The wheel under our city bridge carries not so much water over the city as my brain hath welled forth gushing streams of sorrow; I have wept so immoderately and lavishly that I thought verily my palate had been turned to Pissing Conduit in London. My eyes have been drunk, outrageously drunk, with giving but ordinary intercourse, through their sea-circled islands, to my distilling dreariment. What shall I say? That which malice hath said is the mere overthrow and murder of your days.

Quoted on May 16, 2012