Our sighs and they shall lodge the summer corn
And make a dearth in this revolting land. (3.3.4)
Richard: Now is this golden crown like a deep well
That owes two buckets, filling one another,
The emptier ever dancing in the air,
The other down, unseen and full of water.
That bucket down and full of tears am I,
Drinking my griefs while you mount up on high. (4.1.2)
Mine eyes are full of tears; I cannot see.
And yet salt water blinds them not so much
But they can see a sort of traitor here. (4.1.7)