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

A Valediction of weeping.

LEt me powre forth My teares before thy face, whil'st I stay here, For thy face coines them, and thy stampe they beare, And by this Mintage they are something worth, For thus they bee Pregnant of thee, Fruits of much griefe they are, emblemes of more, When a teare falls, that thou falst which it bore, So thou and I are nothing then, when on a divers shore

On a round ball A workeman that hath copies by, can lay An Europe, Afrique, and an Asia, And quickly make that, which was nothing, All, So doth each teare, Which thee doth weare, A globe, yea world by that impression grow, Till thy teares mixt with mine doe overflow This world, by waters sent from thee, my heaven dis∣solved so.

O more then Moone, Draw not up seas to drowne me in thy spheare, Weepe me not dead, in thine armes, but forbeare To teach the sea, what it may doe too soone, Let not the winde Example finde, To doe me more harme, then it purposeth, Since thou and I sigh one anothers breath, Who e'r sighes most, is cruellest, and hasts the others death.