Eleg: 12.a| |
Here take my picture, though I bid farwell [f. 21] |
Thyne in my hart, wher my Soule dwells shall dwell. |
T'is like me now, but I dead, t'wilbe more |
When we are shadows bothe, then t'was before. |
When weatherbeaten I come back; my hand |
Perchance wt rude Oares torne, or Suns beams tand, |
My face & breast of hayre cloth, and my head |
Wt Cares rash sodain horines orespred, |
My body a sack of bones, broken within |
And powder blew staines scatterd on my skin, |
If riuall fooles taxe thee to'haue lov'd a man |
So foule & course, as Oh I may seeme than |
This shall say what I was; and thou shalt say, |
Do his hurts reache mee? doth my worthe decay? |
Or do they reach his iudging mind, yt hee |
Should like & love les, what he did love to see? |
That wch in him was fayre or deliate |
Was but ye Milke wch in Loves childish State |
Did nourse it: Who now is growne strong inough |
To feede on yt wch to disvsd tasts seems tough. |
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Eleg: 13.a |
Sorrow, who to this house, scarse knew ye way |
Is, Oh, heire of it, Or all is his pray. |
This strange chance claymes strange Wonder; & to vs |
Nothing can be so strange, as to weepe thus. |
Tis well his lifes lowd speaking works deserve |
And giue prayse to, or cold tongs could not serve. |
Tis well he kept teares frō or eyes before |
That to fitt this deepe ill we might haue store. |
Oh yf a sweete bryer clymbe vp by a tree |
If to a Paradise yt transplanted bee |
Or felld and burnt for holy sacrifice |
Yet yt must wither wch by it did rise; |
As we for him dead: Though no family |
Ere riggd a soule for heauens discouery |
Wt whom more Venturers more boldly dare |
Venter their states wth him in ioy to share. |