The Computation

FOR my first twenty years, since yesterday,

I scarce believed thou couldst be gone away;

For forty more I fed on favours past,

And forty on hopes, that thou wouldst they might last;

Tears drown’d one hundred, and sighs blew out two;

A thousand, I did neither think, nor do,

Or not divide, all being one thought of you;

Or in a thousand more, forgot that too.

Yet call not this long life; but think that I

Am, by being dead, immortal; can ghosts die?