Epigram. 3.

SOuldier; of thee I aske, for thou canst best,
Hauing knowne sorrow, iudge of Ioy and Rest:
What greater blisse, then after all thy harmes,
To haue a wife that's faire, and lawfull thine;
And lying prison'd 'twixt her Iuory armes,
There tell what thou hast scapt by powers diuine?
How many round thee thou hast murthered seene;
How oft thy soule hath beene neere hand expiring,
How many times thy flesh hath wounded been:
Whil'st she thy fortune, and thy worth admiring,
With ioy of health, and pitty of thy paine;
Doth weepe and kisse, and kisse and weepe againe.