Sonnet III.

OH! for some honest Lovers ghost,
Some kind unbodied post
Sent from the shades below.
I strangely long to know
Whether the nobler Chaplets wear,
Those that their mistresse scorn did bear,
Or those that were us'd kindly.

For what-so-e're they tell us here
To make those sufferings dear,
'Twill there I fear be found,
That to the being crown'd,
T'have lov'd alone will not suffice,
Unlesse we also have been wise,
And have our Loves enjoy'd.

What posture can we think him in,
That here unlov'd agen
Departs, and's thither gone
Where each sits by his own?
Or how can that Elizium be
Where I my Mistresse still must see
Circled in others Armes?

For there the Judges all are just,
And Sophonisba must
Be his whom she held dear;
Not his who lov'd her here:
The sweet Philoclea since she dy'de
Lies by her Pirocles his side,
Not by Amphialus.

Some Bayes (perchance) or Myrtle bough
For difference crowns the brow
Of those kind souls that were
The noble Martyrs here;
And if that be the onely odds
(As who can tell) ye kinder Gods,
Give me the Woman here.