 | The Poetry of George Wither |  |
Epigram 3.
Soldier, of thee I ask, for thou canst best,Having known sorrow, judge of joy and rest;
What greater bliss than after all thy harms
To have a wife that's fair and lawful thine,
And lying prison'd 'twixt her ivory arms,
There tell what thou hast 'scaped by powers divine?
How many round thee thou hast murthered seen,
How oft thy soul hath been near-hand expiring,
How many times thy flesh hath wounded been:
Whilst she thy fortune and thy worth admiring,
With joy of health and pity of thy pain,
Doth weep and kiss, and kiss and weep again.
| The Poetry of George Wither | |