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| A Nocturnall vpon S.t Lucyes day |
| beeing the shortest day. |
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| Tis the yeares Midnight, and it is the dayes [288] |
| Lucies; who scarse seven howers her selfe vnmaskes |
| The Sunne is spent, and now, his flasks |
| Send forth light squibbs, not constant rayes, |
| The worlds whole sapp is sunke |
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| The generall Balme th' Hydroptique earth hath drunke |
| Whither, as to the bedds feete, life is shrunk |
| Dead and interrd, yet all these seeme to laugh |
| Compard with mee. who am theyr Epitaph. |
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| Study mee, then, you who shall louers bee |
| At the next world, that is, at the next Spring |
| For I am a very dead thing |
| In whome loue wrought new Alchimy |
| For his hart* did expresse |
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| A Quintessence even from Nothingnesse |
| From dull priuations and leane emptinesse |
| Hee ruind mee, and I am re-begott |
| Of Absence, darknesse, death, things wch are not |
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| All others from all things draw all that's good |
| Life, soule, forme, spirit, whence they beeing haue |
| I by Loues Lymbeck am the Graue |
| Of all, that's Nothing. Oft a floud |
| Haue wee two wept, and so
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[CW: Drownd___] |