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 5
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, 10
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_]