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Elegy V: His Picture
Here take my picture; though I bid farewell Thine, in my heart, where my soul dwells, shall dwell. 'Tis like me now, but I dead, 'twill be more When we are shadows both, than 'twas before. When weather-beaten I come back, my hand Perhaps with rude oars torn, or sun beams tann'd, My face and breast of haircloth, and my head With care's rash sudden storms being o'erspread, My body'a sack of bones, broken within, And powder's blue stains scatter'd on my skin; If rival fools tax thee to'have lov'd a man So foul and coarse as, oh, I may seem then, This shall say what I was, and thou shalt say, "Do his hurts reach me? doth my worth decay? Or do they reach his judging mind, that he Should now love less, what he did love to see? That which in him was fair and delicate, Was but the milk which in love's childish state Did nurse it; who now is grown strong enough To feed on that, which to disus'd tastes seems tough.
Here, take my picture; even though I say goodbye Yours will remain in my heart, where my soul lives. It looks like me now, but when I'm dead, it will be more When we are both just shadows, more than it was before. When I return weathered, my hand Maybe torn by rough oars, or tanned by the sun, My face and chest covered in rough cloth, and my head With sudden storms of worry all over it, My body a sack of bones, broken inside, And blue stains from powder scattered on my skin; If foolish rivals criticize you for loving a man So ugly and coarse as I may seem then, This will show what I was, and you will say, "Do his wounds affect me? Does my value decrease? Or do they affect his judgment, that he Should now love less what he once loved to see? What was beautiful and delicate in him Was just the milk that nurtured love in its childish state Now he has grown strong enough To eat what seems tough to those who are unaccustomed.