I am the faythfull deputy
Unto your fading memory.
Your Index long in search doth hold;
Your folded wrinkles make books olde:
But I the Scripture open plaine,
And what you heard soone teach againe:
By mee the Welchman well may bring
Himselfe to Heaven in a string.

(C) William Strode
03/10/2017


Best Poems of William Strode

• On A Dissembler
• On Westwell Downes
• With Penne, Inke, And Paper To A Distressed Friend
• A Girdle
• Kisses
• Justification
• On A Friends Absence
• An Eare-stringe
• Of Death & Resurrection
• A Strange Gentlewoman Passing By His Window
• On The Death Of Sir Tho: Peltham
• To The Right Honourable The Lady Penelope Dowager Of The Late Vis-count Bayning
• On A Register For A Bible
• On The Bible
• Consolatorium, Ad Parentes
• On The Death Of Mistress Mary Prideaux
• On The Death Of Sir Thomas Lea
• Posies Bracelets
• On John Dawson, Butler Of C.c.
• On A Gentlewoman That Had Had The Small Poxe
• An Antheme