O how feeble is mans power,

    t if good fortune fall,

    Cannot add another hour,

    Nor a lost hour recall ;

    But come bad chance,

    And o it our strength,

    And eac art and length,

    Itself oer us to advance.

    , t not wind,

    But sig my soul away ;

    , unkindly kind,

    My lifes blood doth decay.

    It cannot be

    t t me as t,

    If in te,

    t art t of me.

    Let not t

    Forethink me any ill ;

    Destiny may take t,

    And may thy fears fulfil.

    But t we

    Are but turnd aside to sleep.

    ther keep

    Alive, neer parted be.

    I died, and, dear, I die

    As often as from thee I go,

    t be but an hour ago

    —And lovers ernity—

    I can remember yet, t I

    Sometow ;

    t me, I might be

    Mine oor, and legacy.

    I ;tell her anon,

    t myself,quot; t is you, not I,

    quot; Did kill me,quot; and w me die,

    I bid me send my , when I was gone ;

    But I alas ! could there find none ;

    s should lie,

    It killd me again, t I rue

    In life, in my last will should cozen you.

    Yet I found somet,

    But colours it, and corners had ;

    It  good, it  bad,

    It ire to none, and few  ;

    As good as could be made by art

    It seemd, and therefore for our loss be sad.

    I meant to send t  instead of mine,

    But O ! no man could , for thine.