274. His Winding-sheet
Come thou, who art the wine and wit
Of all I've writ:
The grace, the glory, and the best
Piece of the rest.
Thou art of what I did intend
The all and end;
And what was made, was made to meet
Thee, thee, my sheet.
Come then and be to my chaste side
Both bed and bride:
We two, as reliques left, will have
One rest, one grave:
And hugging close, we will not fear
Lust entering here:
Where all desires are dead and cold
As is the mould;
And all affections are forgot,
Or trouble not.
Here, here, the slaves and prisoners be
From shackles free:
And weeping widows long oppress'd
Do here find rest.
The wrongèd client ends his laws
Here, and his cause.
Here those long suits of Chancery lie
Quiet, or die:
And all Star-Chamber bills do cease
Or hold their peace.
Here needs no Court for our Request
Where all are best,
All wise, all equal, and all just
Alike i' th' dust.
