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| If mixture it of Feare, Shame, Honor have; |
| Perchance as torches which must ready bee, |
| Men light and put out, so thou deal'st with mee, |
| Thou cam'st to kindle, goest to come; Then I |
| Will dreame that hope againe, but else would die. |
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| A Valediction of weeping. |
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| Let me powre forth |
| My teares before thy face, whil'st I stay here, |
| For thy face coines them, and thy stampe they beare, |
| And by this Mintage they are something worth, |
| For thus they bee |
| Pregnant of thee, |
| Fruits of much griefe they are, emblemes of more, |
| When a teare falls, that thou falst which it bore, |
| So thou and I are nothing then, when on a divers shore |
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| On a round ball |
| A workeman that hath copies by, can lay |
| An Europe, Afrique, and an Asia, |
| And quickly make that, which was nothing, All, |
| So doth each teare, |
| Which thee doth weare, |
| A globe, yea world by that impression grow, |
| Till thy teares mixt with mine doe overflow |
| This world, by waters sent from thee, my heaven dissolved so.
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[CW: O] |