"Send me some token that my hope may live, Or that my ceaseless thoughts may sleep and rest; Send me some honey to make sweet my hive, That in my passions I may hope the best. I beg no ribbon wrought with thine own hands To knit our loves in the fantastic strain Of new-touched youth; nor ring to show the stands Of our affection:--that as that's round and plain, So should our loves meet in simplicity,-- No, nor the corals which thy wrist infold Laced up together in congruity To show our thoughts should rest in the same hold: No, nor thy picture, though most gracious, And most desired since 'tis like the best, Nor witty lines which are most copious Within the writings which thou hast addressed: Send me not this, nor that, to increase my store, But swear thou think'st I love thee, and no more." To the Lady Goodyeare he writes:-- "MADAM:--I am not come out of England if I remain in the noblest part of it, your mind. Yet I confess it is too much diminution to call your mind any part of England, or this world, since every part of even your body deserves titles to a higher dignity. No Prince would be loath to die that were assured of so fair a tomb to preserve his memory. But I have a greater advantage than this, for since there is a religion in friendship, and death in absence, to make up an entire friend there must needs be a heaven too; and there can be no heaven so proportional to that religion and that death, as your favor. And I am the gladder that it is a heaven, than it were a court, or any other high place of this world, because I am likelier to have a room there, and better, cheap. Madam, my best treasure is time, and my best employment of that (next my thoughts of thankfulness to my Redeemer) is to study good wishes for you, in which I am, by continual meditation, so learned that any creature except your own good angel, when it does you most good, might be content to come and take instruction from Your humble and affectionate servant, J. D. Amyens, the 7th of February, year 1611."