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'had 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 bee no more worth 
      Then gold in Mines, where none doth draw it forth. 
      And all your graces no more use shall have 
         Then 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.