 | Poems, By J. D. [i.e. John Donne] |  |
To M.I. L.
Of that short Roll of friends writ in my heartWhich with thy name begins, since their depart,
Whether in the English Provinces they be,
Or drinke of Po, Sequan, or Danubie,
There's none that sometimes greets us not, and yet
Your Trent is Lethe', that past, us you forget,
You doe not duties of Societies,
If from the'embrace of a lov'd wife you rise,
View your fat Beasts, stretch'd Barnes, and labour'd fields,
Eate, play, ryde, take all joyes which all day yeelds,
102
Some houres on us your frends, and some bestow
Upon your Muse, else both wee shall repent,
I that my love, she that her guifts on you are spent.
| Poems, By J. D. [i.e. John Donne] | |