Upon the Loss of His Little Finger

Arithmetique nine digits, and no more

Admits of, then I still have all my store.

For what mischance hath tane from my left hand,

It seemes did only for a Cipher stand.

But this I'le say for thee departed joynt,

Thou wert not given to steale, nor pick, not point

At any in disgrace; but thou didst go

Untimely to thy Death only to show

The other members what they once must doe;

Hand, arme, legge, thigh, and all must follow too.

Oft didst thou scan my verse, where if I misse

Henceforth I will impute the cause to this.

A fingers losse (I speake it not in sport)

Will make a verse a Foot too short.

Farewell deare finger, much I greive to see

How soone mischance hath made a Hand of thee.

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