To my dearest Sister M. Mercie Herrick.

WHen ere I go, or what so ere befalls
Me in mine Áge, or forraign Funerals,
This Blessing I will leave thee, ere I go,
Prosper thy Basket, and therein thy Dow.
Feed on the paste of Filberts, or else knead
And Bake the floure of Amber for thy bread.
Balm may thy Trees drop, and thy Springs runne
And everlasting Harvest crown thy Soile! (oyle
These I but wish for; but they selfe shall see,
The Blessing fall in mellow times on Thee.