1591, Edmund Spenser, The Poetical Works of Edmund Spenser, Volume 5 Chapter , There came unto my mind a troublous thought, Which dayly doth my weaker wit possesse, 30 Ne lets it rest untill it forth have brought Her long borne infant, fruit of heavinesse, Which she conceived hath through meditation Of this worlds vainnesse and life's wretchednesse, That yet my soule it deepely doth empassion*. So as I muzed on the miserie In which men live, and I of many most, Most miserable man, ... I did espie Where towards me a sory wight did cost*, Clad all in black, that mourning did bewray, And Iacob staffe in hand devoutly crost, Like to some pilgrim come from farre away.
