I am to dine, friend, where I must be weighed For a just wager, and that wager paid If I do lose it: and, without a tale A merchant's wife is regent of the scale, Who, when she heard the match, concluded straight, An ill commodity! 'T must make good weight. So that upon the point, my corporal fear Is, she will play Dame Justice, too severe; And hold me to it close; to stand upright Within the balance; and not want a mite; But rather with advantage to be found Full twenty stone; of which I lack two pound: That's six in silver; now within the socket Stinketh my credit, if into the pocket It do not come: one piece I have in store, Lend me, dear Arthur, for a week five more, And you shall make me good, in weight and fashion, And then to be returned; or protestation To go out after -- till when take this letter For your security. I can no better. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AN EXPATIATION ON THE COMBINING OF WEATHERS AT THIRTY .... by HAYDEN CARRUTH A LEAVE-TAKING by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE TO THE PENDING YEAR by WALT WHITMAN BEAUTIFUL EYES by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS EPITAPH ON SUSANNAH BARBAULD MARISSAL by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |