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| A nocturnall upon S. LVCIES day, |
| Being the shortest day. |
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| 'Tis the yeares midnight, and it is the dayes, |
| Lucies, who scarce seven hours her self unmasks, |
| The Sunne is spent, and now his flasks |
| Send forth light squibs, no constant rayes; |
| The worlds whole sap is sunke: |
| The general balme th'hydroptique earth hath drunk, |
| Whither, as to the beds-feet life is shrunke, |
| Dead and enterr'd; yet all these seem to laugh, |
| Compar'd with me, who am their Epitaph. |
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| Study me then, you who shall lovers bee |
| At the next world, that is, at the next Spring: |
| For I am a very dead thing, |
| In whom love wrought new Alchymie. |
| For his art did expresse |
| A quintessence even from nothingnesse, |
| From dull privations, and leane emptinesse |
| He ruin'd me, and I am re-begot |
| Of absence, darknesse, death; things which are not. |
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| All others, from all things, draw all that's good, |
| Life, soule, forme, spirit, whence they being have, |
| I, by loves limbecke, and the grave |
| Of all, that's nothing. Oft a flood |
| Have we two wept, and so
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[CW: Drown'd] |