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| An odd* letter. |
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| At once from hence, my lines, and I depart, [f. 40] |
| I to my soft still walkes, they to my hart. |
| I to the Nurse, they to the Child of Art. |
| Yet as a firme-House thoughe the Carpenter |
| Perishe, doth* stand; As an Embassador |
| Lyes safe, how ere his King bee in danger. |
| Soe thoughe I languishe prest with Melancholie, |
| My verse the strict Mappe of my Miserie. |
| Shall liue to see, that, for whose want I die. |
| Therefore I envie them, and doe repent, |
| That from vnhappie Mee, thinges happie are sent. |
| Yet as a Picture, or bare Sacrament |
| Accept these lynes, and if in them there bee |
| Meritt of loue, bestowe that loue on me.| |
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| To Sr Henrie Wootton.| |
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| Sr, more then Kisses, letters mingle Soules |
| For thus Frends absent, speake; This Ease controules |
| The tediousnes of my lyfe; But for these |
| I could Ideat nothing, wch could please.
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[CW: But] |