The Exequy

Accept, thou shrine of my dead saint,

Instead of dirges, this complaint;

And for sweet flow'rs to crown thy hearse,

From thy griev'd friend, whom thou might'st see

Quite melted into tears for thee.

Dear loss! since thy untimely fate

My task hath been to meditate

On thee, on thee; thou art the book,

The library whereon I look,

Though almost blind. For thee (lov'd clay)

I languish out, not live, the day,

Using no other exercise

But what I practise with mine eyes;

By which wet glasses I find out

How lazily time creeps about

To one that mourns; this, only this,

My exercise and bus'ness is.

So I compute the weary hours

With sighs dissolved into showers.

Nor wonder if my time go thus

Backward and most preposterous;

Thou hast benighted me; thy set

This eve of blackness did beget,

Who wast my day (though overcast

Before thou hadst thy noon-tide past)

And I remember must in tears,

Thou scarce hadst seen so many years

As day tells hours. By thy clear sun

My love and fortune first did run;

But thou wilt never more appear

Folded within my hemisphere,

Since both thy light and mot{"i}on

Like a fled star is fall'n and gone;

And 'twixt me and my soul's dear wish

An earth now interposed is,

Which such a strange eclipse doth make

As ne'er was read in almanac.

I could allow thee for a time

To darken me and my sad clime;

Were it a month, a year, or ten,

I would thy exile live till then,

And all that space my mirth adjourn,

So thou wouldst promise to return,

And putting off thy ashy shroud,

At length disperse this sorrow's cloud.

But woe is me! the longest date

Too narrow is to calculate

These empty hopes; never shall I

Be so much blest as to descry

A glimpse of thee, till that day come

Which shall the earth to cinders doom,

And a fierce fever must calcine

The body of this world like thine,

(My little world!). That fit of fire

Once off, our bodies shall aspire

To our souls' bliss; then we shall rise

And view ourselves with clearer eyes

In that calm region where no night

Can hide us from each other's sight.

Meantime, thou hast her, earth; much good

May my harm do thee. Since it stood

With heaven's will I might not call

Her longer mine, I give thee all

My short-liv'd right and interest

In her whom living I lov'd best;

With a most free and bounteous grief,

I give thee what I could not keep.

Be kind to her, and prithee look

Thou write into thy doomsday book

Each parcel of this rarity

Which in thy casket shrin'd doth lie.

See that thou make thy reck'ning straight,

And yield her back again by weight;

For thou must audit on thy trust

Each grain and atom of this dust,

As thou wilt answer Him that lent,

Not gave thee, my dear monument.

So close the ground, and 'bout her shade

Black curtains draw, my bride is laid.

Sleep on my love in thy cold bed

Never to be disquieted!

My last good-night! Thou wilt not wake

Till I thy fate shall overtake;

Till age, or grief, or sickness must

Marry my body to that dust

It so much loves, and fill the room

My heart keeps empty in thy tomb.

Stay for me there, I will not fail

To meet thee in that hollow vale.

And think not much of my delay;

I am already on the way,

And follow thee with all the speed

Desire can make, or sorrows breed.

Each minute is a short degree,

And ev'ry hour a step towards thee.

At night when I betake to rest,

Next morn I rise nearer my west

Of life, almost by eight hours' sail,

Than when sleep breath'd his drowsy gale.

Thus from the sun my bottom steers,

And my day's compass downward bears;

Nor labour I to stem the tide

Through which to thee I swiftly glide.

'Tis true, with shame and grief I yield,

Thou like the van first took'st the field,

And gotten hath the victory

In thus adventuring to die

Before me, whose more years might crave

A just precedence in the grave.

But hark! my pulse like a soft drum

Beats my approach, tells thee I come;

And slow howe'er my marches be,

I shall at last sit down by thee.

The thought of this bids me go on,

And wait my dissolution

With hope and comfort. Dear (forgive

The crime) I am content to live

Divided, with but half a heart,

Till we shall meet and never part.