|
| But though she part us, to hear my oft prayers |
| For your increase, God is as ne'r me here; |
| And to send you what I shall begg, his stairs |
| In length and ease are alike every where. |
|
| To M. M.H. |
|
| Mad paper stay, and grudge not here to burn |
| With all those sons whom thy brain did create, |
| At least lie hid with me, till thou return |
| To rags again, which is thy native state. |
|
| What though thou have enough unworthiness |
| To come unto great place as others doe, |
| That's much emboldness, pulls, thrusts, I confess, |
| But 'tis not all, thou shouldst be wicked too. |
|
| And, that thou canst not learn, or not of me, |
| Yet thou wilt goe, Go, since thou goest to her |
| Who lacks but faults to be a Prince, for she, |
| Truth, whom they dare not pardon, dares prefer. |
|
| But when thou com'st to that perplexing eye |
| Which equally claims love and reverence: |
| Thou wilt not long dispute it, thou wilt die; |
| And having little now, have then no sense. |
|
| Yet when her warm redeeming hand, which is |
| A miracle; and made such to work more, |
| Doth touch thee (sapless leaf) thou grow'st by this |
| Her creature; glorify'd more than before.
|
[CW: Then] |