To Mr I. L.| |
Of yt short roll of frinds, writt in my hart [f. 31v] |
wch wt thy name begins, since ther depart |
whether in th'English Prouinces they bee |
Or drinke of Po, Sequane, or Danubee |
Ther'is none yt somtimes greets vs not; and yett |
your Trent is Lethe; yt past vs you forgett. |
you do not dutyes of Societies |
If frō th'embrace of a lov'd wife you rise, |
View your fatt beasts, stretchd barnes, & labord fields |
Eate, play, ride, take all ioyes, wch all day yields |
And then agayne to your embracemts go |
Some howers on vs your frinds, & some bestow |
Vpon thy Muse; els both we shall repent |
I, that my love, She yt her guifts on thee are spent. |
|
To Mr B. B.| |
Is not thy sacred hunger of science |
yet satisfied? Is not thy braines rich hive |
fullfilld wt hony wch thou dost derive |
from the Arts Spiritts & ther Quintessence? |
Then weane thy selfe at last, & thee withdraw |
frō Cambridge thy old Nource, & as the rest |
Here toughly chaw, & sturdily disgest |
Th'immense vast Volumes of or Cōmon Law. |
And begin soone, least my griefe grieve thee to: |
Wch is that yt wch I should haue begonne |
In my youths Morning, now late must be donne. |
And I, as giddy trauailers, must do |
wch stay or sleepe all day, & hauing lost |
Light & strength; dark & tyr'd must thē ride post. |
If thou vnto thy Muse be maried |
Embrace her still: encrease & multiply; |
be farr frō me yt strange adultery |
To tempt thee & procure her Widowhed. |
My Muse (for I had one) because I ame cold |
Deuorc'd her selfe: the cause beeing in mee |
That I can take no new in bigamee |
Not my will only but power doth wthold.
|
[CW:om] |