To Idera in Mourning, Going into Mourning Himself soon after

PRovident Fate consider'd well,
When at one double stroke two fell,
For both to toll one Passing-bell.

Not that his stock of Shafts was low,
Nor did they one another know
For Fellow-Travellers below.

But when she saw one bleeding heart,
In different Liveries forc'd to part,
She drew a reconciling Dart.

When therefore there a Blank was put,
Here Fate a Thread, grown rotten, cut,
And Eyes that could not open, shut.

Of hoary Grief now both partake,
Or else a solemn Mourning make,
Idera! for one another's sake.

For thus by Heaven it was decreed,
Our Myrtle, for our Mourning Weed,
Incorporate should together breed.

Our Streams from the same Fountain flow;
From the same Stalk our Troubles grow;
The Rise, the Root we only know.

So when one Flower's torn, and prest,
And smother'd in a steaming Breast,
That Wound will murther all the rest.

So if one Base be struck alone,
The next that bears a heavy tone,
Will fetch a Sympathetick Groan.

Learn from your everlasting Dye,
Not with your Black to change your Constancy,
'T were better you should mourn alone, than I.