Which shall shine bright, till she
And the whole world of love, expire with me.
To my honoured friend Sir Ed. P. Knight.
You'd leave the silence in which safe we are,
To listen to the noyse of warre;
And walke those rugged paths, the factious tread,
Who by the number of the dead
Reckon their glories, and thinke greatnesse stood
Unsafe, till it was built on blood.