Classic Poem

Againe.

E PIG . 280.

M Y Mal, I cannot praise thee as I should
Sith as my wife (that is myselfe) I hold;
Yet for the comfort still thou yeeld'st to mee,
Faine would I tell Posterity of thee;
That so I might requite thy wifely loue,
Thy care, thy paines, (and all for my behoue)
With one cast of mine office e're wee part.
And Death deuide our vndeuided hart
When first I saw thee thou wert Croft of Croft
Which for my lownesse lay too farre aloft;
But thou, not thou but He that made all harts
Made thine affect my yet small no desarts:
That (briefely) thou forsook'st thy richer hopes
And thee confinde in my poore Fortunes scopes.
But since, how thou hast cheerisht them, and mee.
I may not say for too much praising thee.
Yet this strong trvth ev'n wresteth from my pen,—
Farre worser wiues would fit farre better men,
 Yet when thou wilt thou maist thy goddnesse stint
 But if thou do Ile crosse this praise in print.