To Mr R. W. (Kindly I envy)

Kindly I envy thy songs perfection
Built of all th'elements as our bodyes are:
That Litle of earth that is in it, is a faire
Delicious garden where all sweetes are sowne.
In it is cherishing fyer which dryes in mee
Griefe which did drowne me: and halfe quench'd by it
Are satirique fyres which urg'd me to have writt
In skorne of all: for now I admyre thee.
And as Ayre doth fullfill the hollownes
Of rotten walls; so it myne emptines,
Where tost and mov'd it did beget this sound
Which as a lame Eccho of thyne doth rebound.
Oh, I was dead; but since thy song new Life did give,
I recreated, even by thy creature, live.