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Classic and Contemporary Poetry


TO SIR THO. ROWE by JOHN ROE

First Line: DEARE THOM: / TELL HER IF SHE TO HIRED SERVANTS SHEW
Last Line: WILLING, THEN THOSE WHICH DIE, AND NOT CONFESSE.

@3Deare Thom:@1
Tell her if she to hired servants shew
Dislike, before they take their leave they goe;
When nobler spirits start at no disgrace,
For who hath but one minde, hath but one face:
If then why I tooke not my leave she aske,
Aske her againe why she did not unmaske?
Was she or proud or cruell, or knew shee
'Twould make my losse more felt, and pittyed me?
Or did she feare one kisse might stay for moe?
Or else was she unwilling I should goe?
I thinke the best, and love so faithfully
I cannot chuse but thinke that she loves mee.
If this prove not my faith, then let her trie
How in her service I would fructifie.
Ladies have boldly lov'd; bid her renew
That decay'd worth, and prove the times past true.
Then he whose wit and verse goes now so lame,
With songs to her will the wild Irish tame.
Howe'r, I'll weare the black and white ribband,
White for her fortunes, blacke for mine shall stand.
I doe esteeme her favours, not their stuffe;
If what I have was given, I have enough:
And all's well; for had she lov'd, I had had
All my friends hate; for now, departing sad
I feele not that; Yet as the Rack the Gout
Cures, so hath @3this@1 worse griefe @3that@1 quite put out:
My first disease nought but that worse cureth,
Which (which I dare foresee) nought cures but death.
Tell her all this before I am forgot,
That not too late shee grieve shee lov'd me not.
Burden'd with this, I was to depart lesse
Willing, then those which die, and not confesse.



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