University of Virginia Library

To my matchlesse friend, my dearest William Scot, a New-yeares guift.

How shall I thanke my fate that wrought this end
To my best wishes? that thou art my friend.
I may lose all (if I have any) wealth,
My sicknesse may bereave mee of my health.
Bondage may steale my freedome, but my love,
Which is a sacred blessing from above
Can neere be wanting, since 'tis lock't in thee,
Who art true friendships safest treasurie.
It joyes mee that my soule so well did light
To dwell with thine, thou that dost speake, and write,
And thinke the same with mee, as if my spirit,
Did nothing else but what is thine, inherit.
If e're (which heaven defend and still uphold)
Our league should breake: Oh! horror to be told,
And that the knot of our strong amity,
Should be dissolv'd by any crime in mee,
Then count mee lighter than my fleeting breath,
Show by this paper, and I'le blush to death.
But I feare no such mischiefe, since our love
So aptly in each others soules doth move.
No Rhetoricke can my zeale to thee impart,
So well I love thee, that thou hast my heart;
And that my action may concord with time,
Be this thy New-yeares guift, and call mee thine