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So thy retyrings I love, yea envie,
Bred in thee by a wise melancholy,
That I rejoyce, that unto where thou art,
Though I stay here, I can thus send my heart,
As kindly as any enamored Patient
His Picture to his absent Love hath sent.
All news I think sooner reach thee than me;
Havens are Heavens, and Ships wing'd Angels be,
The which both Gospel, and stern threatnings bring;
Guianaes harvest is nipt in the spring,
I fear; and with us (me thinks) Fate deales so
As with the Jews guide God did; he did show
Him the rich land, but barr'd his entry in:
Our slowness is our punishment and sin;
Perchance, these Spanish businesses being done;
Which as the earth between the Moon and Sun
Eclipse the light which Guiana would give,
Our discontinued hopes we shall retrive:
But if (as All th' All must) hopes smoak away,
Is not Almighty Vertue an India?
If men be worlds, there is in every one
Some thing to answer in some proportion
All the worlds riches: and in good men, this
Vertue, our forms form, and our souls soul is.
To M. I. L.
Of that short Roll of friends writ in my heart
Which with thy name begins, since their depart
Whether in the English Provinces they be,
Or drink of Po, Sequan, or danubie,

[CW: Theres]