Page:Madagascar, with other poems - Davenant (1638).djvu/90

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To I. C.

Rob'd by his Man

Andrew.

Sir, whom I now love more, than did the goodSaint Martin, that all-naked-Flesh-and-blood,Whose Cloake (at Plimmouth spun) was Crab-Tree wood.
His owne was Tammie sure; which made it teareSo soone into a gift; and thou (I feare)Wilt beg halfe mine, not to bestow, but weare.
For thy Saint-Andrew sought not out the wayTo keepe thee warme, but make thee watch, and prayThat is, for his returne; about, Doomes-day;

Worse

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