|
| The Computation. |
|
| From my first twenty years, since yesterday, |
| I scarce believ'd thou couldst be gone away, |
| And fourty more I fed on favours past, |
| And fourty'on hopes, that thou wouldst they might last. |
| Tears drown'd one hundred, and sighs blew out two, |
| A thousand I did neither think, nor do, |
| Or not divide, all being one thought of you: |
| Or in a thousand more, forget that too. |
| Yet call not this long life; but think that I |
| Am, by being dead, immortal; Can ghosts die? |
|
| The Paradox. |
|
| No Lover saith, I love, nor any other |
| Can judge a perfect Lover; |
| He thinks 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 excess of heat, more young than old, |
| Death kills with too much cold; |
| We die but once, and who lov'd last did die, |
| He that saith twice, doth lie: |
| For though he seem to move, and stir a while, |
| It doth the sense beguile. |
| Such life is like the light which bideth yet |
| When the lifes light is set, |
| Or like the heat, which, fire in solid matter |
| Leaves behind two hours after.
|
[CW: Once] |