His Winding-sheet

Come thou, who art the wine and wit
  Of all I’ve writ:
The grace, the glory, and the best
  Piece of the rest.
Thou art of what I did intend
  The all and end;
And what was made, was made to meet
  Thee, thee, my sheet.
Come then, and be to my chaste side
  Both bed and bride.
We two, as reliques left, will have
  One rest, one grave.
And, hugging close, we will not fear
  Lust entering here,
Where all desires are dead or cold
  As is the mould;
And all affections are forgot,
  Or trouble not.
Here, here the slaves and pris’ners be
  From shackles free:
And weeping widows long oppress’d
  Do here find rest.
The wronged client ends his laws
  Here, and his cause.
Here those long suits of chancery lie
  Quiet, or die:
And all Star–Chamber bills do cease,
  Or hold their peace.
Here needs no Court for our Request,
  Where all are best,
All wise, all equal, and all just
  Alike i’ th’ dust.
Nor need we here to fear the frown
  Of court or crown:
Where fortune bears no sway o’er things,

  There all are kings.
In this securer place we’ll keep,
  As lull’d asleep;
Or for a little time we’ll lie
  As robes laid by;
To be another day reworn,
  Turn’d, but not torn:
Or, like old testaments engrost,
  Lock’d up, not lost.
And for a while lie here conceal’d,
  To be reveal’d
Next at that great Platonick year,
  And then meet here.
His Winding-sheet

by Robert Herrick, 1648
