|
| Tell him, all questions, which men have defended |
| Both of the place and pains of hell, are ended; |
| And 'tis decreed, our hell is but privation |
| Of him, at least in this earths habitation: |
| And 'tis where I am, where in every street |
| Infections follow, overtake and meet. |
| Live I or die, by you my love is sent, |
| You are my pawns, or else my Testament. |
|
| To M. T. W. |
|
| Pregnant again with th'old twins Hope and Fear, |
| Oft have I ask't for thee, both how and where |
| Thou wert, and what my hopes of letters were: |
|
| As in our streets slie beggers narrowly |
| Watch motions of the givers hand or eye, |
| And evermore conceiue some hope thereby. |
|
| And now thy Alms is given, thy letter 'is read, |
| The body risen again, the which was dead, |
| And thy poor starveling bountifully fed. |
|
| After this banquet my soul doth say grace, |
| And praise thee fort, and zealously embrace |
| Thy love, though I think thy love in this case |
| To be as gluttons, which say 'midst their meat; |
| They love that best of which they most do eat.
|
[CW: Incerto] |