You that are she and you, that's double shee, In her dead face, halfe of your selfe shall see; Shee was the other part, for so they doe Which build them friendships, become one of two; So two, that but themselves no third can fit, Which were to be so, when they were not yet; Twinnes, though their birth @3Cusco,@1 and @3Musco@1 take, As divers starres one Constellation make; Pair'd like two eyes, have equall motion, so Both but one meanes to see, one way to goe. Had you dy'd first, a carcasse shee had beene; And wee your rich Tombe in her face had seene; She like the Soule is gone, and you here stay, Not a live friend; but th'other halfe of clay. And since you act that part, As men say, here Lies such a Prince, when but one part is there, And do all honour and devotion due Unto the whole, so wee all reverence you; For, such a friendship who would not adore In you, who are all what both were before, Not all, as if some perished by this, But so, as all in you contracted is. As of this all, though many parts decay, The pure which elemented them shall stay; And though diffus'd, and spread in infinite, Shall recollect, and in one All unite: So madame, as her Soule to heaven is fled, Her flesh rests in the earth, as in the bed; Her vertues do, as to their proper spheare, Returne to dwell with you, of whom they were: As perfect motions are all circular, So they to you, their sea, whence lesse streames are. Shee was all spices, you all metalls; so In you two wee did both rich Indies know. And as no fire, nor rust can spend or waste One dramme of gold, but what was first shall last, Though it bee forc'd in water, earth, salt, aire, Expans'd in infinite, none will impaire; So, to your selfe you may additions take, But nothing can you lesse, or changed make. Seeke not in seeking new, to seeme to doubt, That you can match her, or not be without; But let some faithfull booke in her roome be, Yet but of @3Judith@1 no such booke as shee. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LOVELY CHANCE by SARA TEASDALE THE INDIA WHARF by SARA TEASDALE WAR IS KIND: 1 by STEPHEN CRANE MR. PETER'S STORY: THE BAGMAN'S DOG by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM TO A CHILD OF THREE YEARS OLD by BERNARD BARTON |