Joy now so much her Master grown,
That whatsoever does but seem
Like Grief, is from her Windows thrown.
Nor that she payes, while she survives,
To her dead Love this Tribute due;
But casts abroad these Donatives,
At the installing of a new.
How wide they dream! The Indian Slaves
That sink for Pearl through Seas profound,
Would find her Tears yet deeper Waves
And not of one the bottom sound.
I yet my silent Judgment keep,
Disputing not what they believe:
But sure as oft as Women weep,
It is to be suppos'd they grieve.
The final stanza is sly and ambitious: keeping a “silent” judgement and offering no real answer to the question as to why she is crying. 
 Men have the power to ask what is causing her pain, yet would rather guess; they do not want to hear the real reasons behind the tears.
Mourning