To my wife, from Chester

WHen I from thee, my deere, last day departed,
Summond by Honor to this Irish action,
Thy tender eyes shed teares: but I, hard-harted,
Tooke from those teares a ioy, and satisfaction.
Such for her Spouse (thought I) was Lucrece sadnes,
Whom to his ruine Tyrant Tarquin tempted.
So mourned she, whose husband feined madnes,
Thereby from Troian warres to stand exempted.
Thus then I doe reioyce in that thou greeuest,
And yet, sweet foole, I loue thee, thou beleeuest.