Tixall Poetry.
87
Uppon the
Returne from Our Friends
in Stafordshire.
What? has our progresse from kind friend to friend
Increas'd our ioys? or must we, now they end,
Be capable of grief? No such sad fate
Attends our love, we enioy one constant state.
Yet let not any deeme this as neglect
Of them, or of ourselves too much respect;
For we allow they can as easily give,
As tis impossible we should receave.
That speakes there vertue, but this cannot mine;
To love and you I must my ioys assigne.
For I, more apt to erre then any one,
In this ther love a serious griefe should owne,
Had not love beene so kindly prodigall
To give me you, and you to give me all.
Increas'd our ioys? or must we, now they end,
Be capable of grief? No such sad fate
Attends our love, we enioy one constant state.
Yet let not any deeme this as neglect
Of them, or of ourselves too much respect;
For we allow they can as easily give,
As tis impossible we should receave.
That speakes there vertue, but this cannot mine;
To love and you I must my ioys assigne.
For I, more apt to erre then any one,
In this ther love a serious griefe should owne,
Had not love beene so kindly prodigall
To give me you, and you to give me all.
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