(And if the whirling of thy wheels don't drown'd) The woful accents of my doleful found,
If in thy fwift Carrier thou canft make stay,
I crave this boon, this Errand by the way,
Commend me to the man more lov'd then life,
Shew him the forrows of his widdowed wife;
My dumpish thoughts, my groans, my-brakish tears
My fobs, my longing hopes, my doubting fears,
And if he love, how can he there abide?
My Intereft's more then all the world befide.
He that can tell the starrs or Ocean fand,
Or all the grass that in the Meads do ftand,
The leaves in th' woods, the hail or drops of rain,
Or in a corn-field number every grain,
Or every mote that in the fun-fhine hops,
May count my fighs, and number all my drops:
Tell him, the countless steps that thou doft trace,
That once a day, thy Spouse thou mayst imbrace;
And when thou canst not treat by loving mouth,
Thy rayes afar, falute her from the south.
But for one moneth I fee no day (poor foul)
Like thofe far fcituate under the pole,
Which day by day long wait for thy arise,
O how they joy when thou doft light the skyes.
O Phœbus, hadft thou but thus long from thine
Restrain'd the beams of thy beloved shine,
At thy return, if fo thou could'st or durft
Behold a Chaos blacker then the first.
Tell him here's worse then a confused matter,
His little world's a fathom under water,
Nought but the fervor of his ardent beams.
Hath power to dry the torrent of these streams.
Tell him I would fay more, but cannot well,
Oppreffed minds, abrupteft tales do tell.
Now poft with double fpeed, mark what I fay,
By all our loves conjure him not to stay.
As loving Hind that (Hartlefs) wants her Deer,
Scuds through the woods and Fern with harkning ear,
Perplext, in every bufh & nook doth pry,
Her dearest Deer, might anfwer ear or eye;
So doth my anxious foul, which now doth mifs,
A dearer Dear (far dearer Heart) then this.
Still wait with doubts, & hopes, and failing eye,
His voice to hear, or perfon to difcry.
Or as the penfive Dove doth all alone
(On withered bough) moft uncouthly bemoan
The abfence of her Love, and loving Mate,
Whofe lofs hath made her fo unfortunate:
Ev'n thus doe I, with many a deep fad groan
Bewail my turtle true, who now is gone,
His presence and his fafe return, ftill wooes,
With thousand dolefull fighs & mournfull Cooes.
Or as the loving Mullet, that true Fish,
Her fellow loft, nor joy nor life do wish,
But lanches on that shore, there for to dye,
Where the her captive husband doth espy.
Mine being gone, I lead a joylefs life,
I have a loving phere, yet feem no wife:
But worst of all, to him can't steer my course,
I here, he there, alas, both kept by force:
Return my Dear, my joy, my only Love,
Unto thy Hinde, thy Mullet and thy Dove,
Who neither joyes in pafture, houfe nor ftreams,
The fubftance gone, O me, thefe are but dreams.
Together at one Tree, oh let us brouze,
And like two Turtles rooft within one house,
And like the Mullets in one River glide,
Let's ftill remain but one, till death divide.
Thy loving Love and Dearest Dear,
At home, abroad, and every where.
To her Father with fome verfes.
Oft truly honoured, and as truly dear,
If worth in me, or ought I do appear,
Who can of right better demand the fame?
Then may your worthy felf from whom it came.
The principle might yield a greater fum,
Yet handled ill, amounts but to this crum;
My stock's fo fmall, I know not how to pay,
My Bond remains in force unto this day;
Yet for part payment take this fimple mite,
Where nothing's to be had Kings loose their right
Such is my debt, I may not fay forgive,
But as I can, I'le pay it while I live:
Such is my bond, none can discharge but I,
Yet paying is not payd until I dye.
In reference to her Children, 23. June, 1656.* [245]
Had eight birds hatcht in one nest,
Four Cocks there were, and Hens the reft,
I nurst them up with pain and care,
Nor coft, nor labour did I fpare,
Till at the last they felt their wing.
Mounted the Trees, and learn'd to fing;
Chief of the Brood then took his fight,
To Regions far, and left me quite: †
My mournful chirps I after fend,
Till he return, or I do end,
Leave not thy neft, thy Dam and Sire,
Fly back and fing amidst this Quire.
My fecond bird did take her flight,
And with her mate flew out of fight;
Southward they both their courfe did bend,
And Seafons twain they there did spend:
Till after blown by Southern gales,
They Norward steer d with filled fayles.
This date is clearly wrong, as events are referred to in the course of the poem which took place more than a year later. It is probably a misprint for 1658.
† Samuel, who sailed for England Nov. 6, 1657 (see page 24), and returned home July 17, 1661 (see page 28).
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