[Some] struggle and groan as if by panthers torn,
Or lions' teeth, which makes them loudly mourn;
Some others seem unto themselves to die;
Some climb steep solitudes and mountains high,
From whence they seem to fall inanely down,
Panting with fear, till wak'd, and scarce their own
They feel about them if in bed they lie,
Deceiv'd with dreams, and Night's imagery.
In vain with earnest strugglings they contend
To ease themselves: for when they stir and bend
Their greatest force to do it, even then most
Of all they faint, and in their hopes are cross'd.
Nor tongue, nor hand, nor foot will serve their turn,
But without speech and strength within, they mourn.