Poems, by J.D. VVith elegies on the authors death

Elegie V.

Here take my Picture, though I bid farewell; Thine, in my heart, where my soule dwels, shall dwell. 'Tis like me now, but I dead, 'twill be more When wee are shadowes both, then 'twas before. When weather-beaten I come backe; my hand, Perhaps with rude oares torne, or Sun beams tann'd, My face and brest of hairecloth, and my head With cares rash sodaine stormes, being o'rspread, My body'a sack of bones, broken within, And powders blew staines scatter'd on my skinne; If rivall fooles taxe thee to'have lov'd a man,

So foule, and course, as, Oh, I may seeme than, This shall say what I was: and thou shalt say, Doe his hurts reach mee? doth my worth decay? Or doe they reach his judging minde, that hee Should now love lesse, what hee did love to see? That which in him was faire and delicate, Was but the milke, which in loves childish state Did nurse it: who now is growne strong enough To feed on that, which to disus'd tasts seemes tough.