|
| And Lovers houres be full eternitie, |
| I can remember yet, that I |
| Something did say, and something did bestow; |
| Though I be dead, which meant me, I should be |
| Mine owne executor, and Legacie. |
|
| I heard me say, Tell her anon, |
| That my selfe, that is you, not I, |
| Did kill me, and when I felt me die, |
| I bid me send my heart, when I was gone, |
| But I alas could there finde none, |
| When I had ripp'd, & search'd where hearts should lye, |
| It kill'd me againe, that I who still was true, |
| In life, in my last WIll should cozen you. |
|
| Yet I found something like a heart, |
| But colours it, and corners had, |
| It was not good, it was not bad, |
| It was intire to none, and few had part. |
| As good as could be made by art. |
| It seem'd, and therefore for our losses sad, |
| I meant to send that heart in stead of mine, |
| But oh, no man could hold it, for twas thine. |
|
| A Feaver. |
|
| Oh doe not die, for I shall hate |
| All women so, when thou art gone, |
| That thee I shall not celebrate, |
| When I remember thou wast one.
|
[CW: But] |