At once, from hence, my lines and I depart,
I to my soft still walks, they to my Heart;
I to the Nurse, they to the child of Art;
Yet as a firme house, though the Carpenter
Perish, doth stand: As an Embassadour
Lyes safe, how e'r his king be in danger:
So, though I languish, prest with Melancholy,
My verse, the strict Map of my misery,
Shall live to see that, for whose want I dye.
Therefore I envie them, and doe repent,
That from unhappy mee, things happy'are sent;
Yet as a Picture, or bare Sacrament,
Accept these lines, and if in them there be
Merit of love, bestow that love on mee.
[To M^r T. W. W: An Old Letter. D, H49: A Letter. S96:
Letter. O'F: no heading, and following the preceding
without any interval, 1633, A18, N, TC: Incerto.
1635-69]
[5 As W: as 1633-69]
[7 Melancholy] Malancholy 1633]
[14 of love,] of love 1633]