|
Here toughly chew, and sturdily digest |
Th'immense vast volumes of our common Law; |
And begin soon, lest my grief grieve thee too, |
Which is, that that which I should have begun |
In my youths morning, now late must be done; |
And I as Giddy, Travellers must doe, |
Which stray or sleep all day, and having lost |
Light and strength, dark and tir d must then ride post |
|
If thou unto thy Muse be married, |
Embrace her ever, ever multiply, |
Be far from me that strange Adultery |
To tempt thee, and procure her widowhood; |
My nurse, (for I had one) because I'm cold, |
Divorc'd her self, the cause being in me, |
That I can take no new in Bigamy, |
Not my will only, but power doth withhold; |
Hence comes it, that these Rimes which never had |
Mother, want matter, and they only have |
A little form, the which their Father gave; |
They are prophane, imperfect, oh, too bad |
To be counted Children of Poetry |
Except confirm'd and Bishoped by thee. |
|
To M. R. W. |
|
If, as mine is, thy life a slumber be, |
Seem, when thou read'st these lines, to dream of me, |
Never did Morpheus nor his brother wear |
Shapes so like those Shapes, whom they would appear. |
As this my letter is like me, for it |
Hath my name, words, hand, feet, heart, mind and wit; |
It is my deed of gift of me to thee, |
It is my Will, my self the Legacie.
|
[CW: So] |