Epistle XXXIII. Upon his Mare stoln by a Trooper

Why let her go, I'll vex my self no more,
Lest my heart break, as did my stable door.
'Twas but a Mare; if she be gone, she's gone;
'Tis not a Mare that I do stand upon.
Now by this Cross I am so temperate grown,
I'll bridle nature, since my mare is gone.
I have a little learning, and less wit;
That wealth is sure, no thief can pilfer it.
Riches they say have wings, my Mare had so;
For though she had legs, yet she could hardly go:
But thieves and fate have such a strong command,
To make those go, which have no feet to stand.
She was well skill'd in writing Elegies,
And every mile writes, Here my Rider lies.
Now since I've ne'r a beast to ride upon,
Wou'd I might never go, my verse shall run.
I'll mount on Pegasus, for he's so poor,
From thief or true-man, one may ride secure.
I would not rack invention for a curse,
To plague the Thief, for fear I make him worse:
I would not have him hang'd, for that would be
Sufficient for the law, but not for me.
In charity I wish him no more pain,
But to restore me home my Mare again.
And 'cause I would not have good customes alter,
I wish who has the Mare, may have the Halter.

In 1644.