Made when I was not well, April 20, 1655
My Soul why do'st thou such a mourning make
This Loathsom ruind Prison to forsake
See'st thou these Eyes (tis thou that givest them sight
Or they would quickly set in endles Night)
What splendent Spritelynes in youth they had 5
Now weeping makes them Dim and Dull and Sad
These Locks did Curle and were a Golden brown
Now thin and Lank like silver Threads hang down
My lovly count'nance had a pleasing grace
Now Erra Paters or a sibbils Face 10
My lips were Cherryes Rosey were my Cheeks
But those that now for Blood or Beuty seek
Will find them spoyled by time and adverss fate
Whose cruelty doth give to all a date
My skin was once as white as new fallen snow 15
Through azure veins vimillion Blood did flow
Then were my swelling Breasts the Bed of Love
As smoth as soft as White as Swan or Dove
As Lillyes fadeing Shrink to shun the Light
Soe are my withred Brests shut out of sight 20
Times tiranny they Feel and sorrows spite
My sportive wit and Mirth is now laid by
None is more mopeing now and dul then I
My Ioyes to Heaven with my Dear Pen did Fly
Then why my soul? art thou soe fond to stay 25
Seeing all thats Lovly in mee doth decay
For shame pack up thy vertues and away.