Untimely Feaver, rude insulting guest, <br />How didst thou with such unharmonious heat <br />Dare to distune his well-composed rest; <br />Whose heart so just and noble stroaks did beat? <br /> <br />What if his Youth and Spirits well may bear <br />More thick assaults, and stronger siege then this? <br />We measure not his courage, but our fear: <br />Not what our selves, but what the Times may miss. <br /> <br />Had not that blood, which thrice his veins did yield, <br />Been better treasur'd for some glorious day: <br />At farthest West to paint the liquid field, <br />And with new Worlds his Masters love to pay? <br /> <br />But let those thoughts, sweet Lord, repose a while, <br />Tend only now thy vigour to regain; <br />And pardon these poor Rimes, that would beguile <br />With mine own grief, some portion of thy pain.<br /><br />Sir Henry Wotton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-a-noble-friend-in-his-sickness/
