|
| The Computation. |
|
| For my first twenty years, since yesterday, |
| I scarce beleev'd, thou couldst be gone away, |
| For forty more I fed on favours past, |
| And forty' on hopes, that thou wouldst they might last. |
| Tears drown'd one hundred, and sighs blew out two, |
| A thousand, I did neither thinke, nor doe, |
| Or not deem'd, all being one thought of you; |
| Or in a thousand more, forgot that too. |
| Yet call not this long life; But thinke that I |
| Am, by being dead, Immortall; Can ghosts die? |
|
| The Paradox. |
|
| No Lover saith, I love, nor any other |
| Can judge a perfect Lover; |
| He thinkes that else none can or will agree, |
| That any loves but hee: |
| I cannot say I lov'd, for who can say |
| He was kill'd yesterday. |
| Love with excesse of heat, more young than old, |
| Death kils with too much cold; |
| We die but once, and who lov'd last did die, |
| He that faith twice, doth lie:
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[CW: For] |