BEFORE I sigh my last gaspe, let me breath,
        Great love, some Legacies; Here I bequeath
   Mine eyes to Argus, if mine eyes can see,
        If they be blinde, then Love, I give them thee;
        My tongue to Fame; to'Embassadours mine eares;
            To women or the sea, my teares.
        Thou, Love, hast taught mee heretofore
    By making mee serve her who'bad twenty more,
That I should give to none, but such, as had too much before.

        My constancie I to the planets give;
        My truth to them, who at the Court doe live;
        Mine ingenuity and opennesse,
        To Jesuites; to Buffones my pensivenesse;
        My silence to'any, who abroad hath beene;
            My mony to a Capuchin.
        Thou Love taught'st me, by appointing mee
    To love there, where no love receiv'd can be,
Onely to give to such as have an incapacitie.

        My faith I give to Roman Catholiques;
        All my good works unto the Schismaticks
        Of Amsterdam: my best civility
        And Courtship, to an Universitie;
        My modesty I give to souldiers bare;
            My patience let gamesters share.
        Thou Love taughtst mee, by making mee
    Love her that holds my love disparity,
Onely to give to those that count my gifts indignity.

        I give my reputation to those
        Which were my friends; Mine industrie to foes;
        To Schoolemen I bequeath my doubtfulnesse;
        My sicknesse to Physitians, or excesse;
        To Nature, all that I in Ryme have writ;
            And to my company my wit.
        Thou Love, by making mee adore
    Her, who begot this love in mee before,
Taughtst me to make, as though I gave, when I did but restore.

        To him for whom the passing bell next tolls,
        I give my physick bookes; my writen rowles
        Of Morall counsels, I to Bedlam give;
        My brazen medals, unto them which live
        In want of bread; To them which passe among
            All forrainers, mine English tongue.
        Thou, Love, by making mee love one
    Who thinkes her friendship a fit portion
For yonger lovers, dost my gifts thus disproportion.

        Therefore I'll give no more; But I'll undoe
        The world by dying; because love dies too.
        Then all your beauties will be no more worth
        Than gold in Mines, where none doth draw it forth;
        And all your graces no more use shall have
            Than a Sun dyall in a grave.
        Thou Love taughtst mee, by making mee
    Love her, who doth neglect both mee and thee,
To'invent, and practise this one way, to'annihilate all three.