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To Endimion Porter.
Would thou wert dead! so strictly dead to me,
That nor my sight, nor my vex'd memorie
Could reach thee more: so dead, that but to name
Thou wert, might give the sawcie lie to Fame;
That the bold Sonnes of Honour, and the milde
Race of Lovers (both thy disciples stil'd)
Might aske; who could the first example bee
To all their good? yet none should mention thee,
Knocking at my Brest, when this hou'r is come;
I hope, I once shall finde my heart at home.
Say, thou art dead; yet whisper't but to me;
For should thy so well-spent mortalitie,
End to the world, and that sad end be knowne;
I might (perhaps) still live, but live alone:
The better world would follow thee, and all
That I should gaine, by that large Funerall,
Would be, the wanton vanitie to boast,
What they enjoy, was from my plenty lost.
That nor my sight, nor my vex'd memorie
Could reach thee more: so dead, that but to name
Thou wert, might give the sawcie lie to Fame;
That the bold Sonnes of Honour, and the milde
Race of Lovers (both thy disciples stil'd)
Might aske; who could the first example bee
To all their good? yet none should mention thee,
Knocking at my Brest, when this hou'r is come;
I hope, I once shall finde my heart at home.
Say, thou art dead; yet whisper't but to me;
For should thy so well-spent mortalitie,
End to the world, and that sad end be knowne;
I might (perhaps) still live, but live alone:
The better world would follow thee, and all
That I should gaine, by that large Funerall,
Would be, the wanton vanitie to boast,
What they enjoy, was from my plenty lost.
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