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| ELEGIES. |
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| Elegie I. |
| Iealosie. |
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| Fond woman, which would'st have thy husbād die, |
| And yet complain'st of his great jealousie; |
| If swolne with poyson, he lay in'his last bed, |
| His body with a sere-barke covered, |
| Drawing his breath, as thick and short, as can |
| The nimblest crocheting Musitian, |
| Ready with loathsome vomiting to spue |
| His Soule out of one hell, into a new, |
| Made deafe with his poore Kindreds howling cries, |
| Begging with few feign'd teares, great legacies, |
| Thou would'st not weepe, but jolly,'and frolike be, |
| As a slave, which to morrow should be free, |
| Yet weepst thou, when thou seest him hungerly |
| Swallow his owne death, hearts-bane jealousie. |
| O give him many thankes, he'is courteous, |
| That in suspecting kindly warneth us. |
| We must not, as we us'd, flout openly, |
| In scoffing riddles, his deformitie; |
| Nor at his boord together being satt, |
| With words, nor touch, scarce lookes adulterate.
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[CW: Nor] |