The Poems of John Donne/Volume 2/Incerto

At once from hence my lines and I depart, I to my soft still walks, they to my Heart; I to the Nurse, they to the child of Art.

Yet as a firm house, though the Carpenter Perish, doth stand: as an Embassadour Lies safe, how e’r his King be in danger.

So, though I languish, prest with Melancholy; My verse, the strict Map of my misery, Shall live to see that, for whose want I die.

Therefore I envy them, and do repent, That from unhappy me, things happy’are sent; Yet as a Picture, or bare Sacrament, Accept these lines, and if in them there be Merit of love, bestow that love on me.

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