answer Him that lent
Not gavethee my dear monument.
So close the ground, and bout her shade
curtains draw: my bride is laid.
Sleep on, my Love, in thy cold bed
Never to be disquieted!
My last good-
night! Thou wilt not wake
Till I thy fate shall overtake:
Till age, or grief, or sickness must
Marry my body
to that dust
It so much loves; and fill the room
My heart keeps empty in thy tomb.
Stay for me there: I will
To meet thee in that hollow vale.
And think not much of my delay:
I am already on the way,
follow thee with all the speed
Desire can make, or sorrows breed.
Each minute is a short degree
every hour a step towards thee....
Tis truewith shame and grief I yield
Thou, like the van, first tookst
And gotten hast the victory
In thus adventuring to die
Before me, whose more years might crave
just precedence in the grave.
But hark! my pulse, like a soft drum,
Beats my approach, tells thee I come;
slow howeer my marches be
I shall at last sit down by thee.
The thought of this bids me go on
With hope and comfort. Dearforgive
The crimeI am content to live
Divided, with but
half a heart,
Till we shall meet and never part.
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