To M. T. W.

HAst thee harsh verse as fast as thy lame measure
Will give thee leave, to him; My pain, & pleasure
I have given thee, and yet thou art too weake,
Feete and a reasoning soule and tongue to speake.
Tell him, all questions, which men have defended
Both of the place and paines of hell, are ended;
And 'tis decreed our hell is but privation
Of him, at least in this earths habitation:
And 'tis where I am, where in every street
Infections follow, overtake, and meete:
Live I or die, by you my love is sent,
And you'are my pawnes, or else my Testament.