THE RELIC.
WHEN my grave is broke up again
Some sed guest to eain,
—Fraves have learnd that woman-head,
To be to more than one a bed—
Ahat digs it, spies
A bracelet ht hair about the bone,
Will he not let us alone,
And think that there a loving couple lies,
Who thought that this device might be some way
To make their souls at the last busy day
Meet at this grave, and make a little stay?
If this fall in a time, or land,
Where mass-devotion doth and,
Thehat digs us up will bring
Us to the bishop or the king,
To make us relics ; then
Thou shalt be a Mary Magdalen, and I
A something else thereby ;
All women shall adore us, and some men.
And, si such time miracles are sought,
I would have that age by this paper taught
What miracles we harmless lovers wrought.
First we loved well and faithfully,
Yet knew not what we loved, nor why ;
Difference of sex we never knew,
No more than guardian angels do ;
ing and going we
Perce might kiss, but not between those meals ;
Our hands ouchd the seals,
Whiature, injured by late law, sets free.
These miracles we did ; but now alas !
All measure, and all language, I should pass,
Should I tell what a miracle she was.
THE DAMP.
WHEN I am dead, and doctors know not why,
And my friends curiosity
Will have me cut up to survey each part,
When they shall find your picture in my heart,
You think a sudden damp of love
Will thh all their senses move,
And work on them as me, and so prefer
Your murder to the name of massacre,
Poor victories ; but if you dare be brave,
And pleasure in your quest have,
First kill th enormous giant, your Disdain ;
Ah entress Honour, be slain ;
And like a Goth and Vandal rise,
Deface records and histories
Of your own arts and triumphs over men,
And without such advantage kill me then,
For I could muster up, as well as you,
My giants, and my witches too,
Which are vast stand Seess ;
But these I her look for nor profess ;
Kill me as woma me die
As a mere man ; do you but try
Your passive valour, and you shall find then,
Naked you have odds enough of any man.
THE DISSOLUTION.
SHEs dead ; and all which die
To their first elements resolve ;
And we were mutual elements to us,
And made of one another.
My body then doth hers involve,
And those things whereof I sist hereby
In me abundant grow, and burdenous,
And nourish not, but smother.
My fire of passion, sighs of air,
Water of tears, ahly sad despair,
Which my materials be,
But near worn out by loves security,
She, to my loss, doth by her death repair.
And I might live long wretched so,
But that my fire doth with my fuel grow.
Now, as those active kings
Whose fn quest treasure brings,
Receive more, and spend more, and soo break,
This —which I am amazed that I speak—
This death, hath with my store
My use increased.
And so my soul, more early released,
Will outstrip hers ; as bullets flown before
A latter bullet may oertake, the powder being more.
A JET RI.
THOU art not so black as my heart,
Nor half so brittle as her heart, thou art ;