To Mrs. Magdalen Herbert

Mad paper, stay, and grudge not here to burn
With all those sons whom my brain did create;
At least lie hid with me, till thou return
To rags again, which is thy native state.

What though thou have enough unworthiness
To come unto great place as others do;
That's much-emboldens, pulls, thrusts, I confess;
But 'tis not all; thou shouldst be wicked too.