is not strange She was a woman therefore pleasd to change And now shee s dead some woman doth remain For still she hopes once to be chang'd again 117. On Brawne Here Brawne the quondam begger lyes Who counted by his tale Full sixscore winters in his life Such vertue is in Ale Ale was his meat Ale was his drink Ale did him long reprive And could he still have drunk his Ale He had been still alive 118. On a Candle Here lyes I wot a little star That did belong to Iupiter Which from him Prometheus stole And with it a fire-coale Or this is that I mean to handle Here doth lye a farthing Candle That was lov'd well having its light But loosing that now bids good night 119. On M. R. Who soonest dies lives long enough Our life is but a blast or puffe I did resist and strive with death But soon he put me out of breath He of my life thought to bereave me But I did yield onely to breath me O'r him I shall in triumph sing Thy conquest Grave where is thy sting 120. On a Child Here she lies a prtty bud Lately made of flesh and blood Who as soon fell fast asleep As her little eyes did peep Give her strewings but not stir The earth that lightly covers her 121. On an Inne-keeper It is not I that dye I do but leave an Inn Where harboun'd was with me all filthy kind of sin It is not I that dye I doe but now begin Into etenall â—oy by faith to enter in Why weep you then my friends my parents and my kin Lament ye when I loose but weep not when I win 122. On a Cobler Come hither read my gentle friend And here behold a Coblers end Longer in length his life had gone But that he had no Last so long O mighty Death whose dart can kill The man that made him souls at wilâ— 123. On M. Aire Under this stone of Marble faire Lies th'body ' ntomb'd of Gervase Aire He dy'd not of an â—gue-fit Nor surfeited of too much wit Me thinks this was a wondrous death That Aire should dye for want of breath 124. On Mr. Rice M. Who can doubt Rice to what eternall place Thy soul is fled that did but know thy face Whose body was so light it might have gone To heaven without a resurrection Indeed thou wert all type thy limbs were signes Thy Arteries but Mathematick lines As if two soules had made the compound good Which both should live by faith none by blood 125. On Thomas Iones Here for the nonce Came Thomas Ionce In St. Iileses Church to lye None welch before None Welshman more Till Shon Clerk dye I le tole the bell I le ring his knell He dyed well He 's saved from Hell And so farewell Tom Ionce 126. On a young man Surpriz'd by grief and sicknesse here I lye Stopt in my middle age and soon made dead Yet doe not grudge at God if soon thou dye But know he trebles favours on thy head Who for thy morning work equals thy pay With those that have endur'd the heat oth'day 127. On the two Littletons that were drowned at Oxford 1636. Here lye we Reader canst thou not admire Who both at once by water dy'd and fire For whilst our bodies perish'd in the deep Our soules in love burnt so we fell asleep Let this be then our Epitaph Here lyes Two yet but one one for the other dyes 128. On a Butler That death should thus from hence our Butler catch Into my mind it cannot quickly sink Sure death came thirsty to the buttry-hatch When he that busi'd was deny'd him drink Tut 't was not so 't is like he gave him liquor And death made drunk him made away the quicker Yet let not others grive too much in mind the Butler's gone the keys are left behind 129. On M. Cook To God his Country and the poor he had A zealous soule free heart and lib'rall mind His wife his Children and his kindred sad Lack of his love his care and kindnesse find Yet are their sorrows asswag'd with the thought He hath attain'd the happinesse he sought 130. On a Porter At length by works of wondrous fate Here lyes the Porter of Winchester-gate If gone to heav'n as much I feare He can be but a Porter there He fear'd not hell so much â—or's sin As for th'great rapping and oft coming in 131. Vpon one who dyed in Prison Reader I liv'd enquire no more Left a spy enter in at doore Such are the times a dead man dare Not trust nor credit common aire But dye and lye Entombed here By me I 'l whisper in thine ear Such things as onely dust to dust And without witnesse may entrust 132. On Waddam Colledge Butler Mans life is like a new-tunn'd Cask they say The formost draught is oft times cast away Such are our younger years the following still Are more and more inclining unto ill Such is our manhood untill age at length Doth sowre its sweetnes doth stop its strength Then death prescribing to each thing its bounds Takes what is lefâ— and turns it all to grounds 133. On a Horse Here lies a Horse who dyed but To make his Master go on foot A miracle should it be so The dead to make the lame to go Yet Fate would have it that the same Should make him goe that made him lame 134. On an old Man a Residenciary Tread Sirs as lightly as you can Upon the grave of this old man Twice forty bating but one yeare And thrice three weeks he lived here Whom gentle fate translated hence To a more happy Residence Yet Reader let me tell thee this Which from his Ghost a promise is If here ye will some few tears shed He 'l never haunt ye now he 's dead 135. On a Maid Here she lyes in Bed spice Faire as Eve in Paradise For her beauty it was such Poets co'd not praise too much Virgins come and in a Ring Her supreamest Requium sing Then depart but see ye tread Lightly lightly ore the dead 136. On Husband and Wife To these whom Death againe did wed This Grave 's the second Marriage-Bed For though the hand of Fate could force Twixt soule and body a Divorce It could not sever Man and wife Because they both liv'd but one life Peace good Reader doe not weep Peace the Lovers are asleep They sweet Turtles folded lye In the last knot that love could tye Let them sleep let them sleep on Till this stormy night be gone And th' eternall morrow dawne Then the Curtaines will be drawne And they waken with that light Whose day shall never sleep in night 137. On Aretyne Here biting Aretyne lyes buried With gall more bitter never man was fed The living nor the dead to carp he spar'd Nor yet for any King or Caesar car'd Onely on God to raile he had forgot His answer was indeed I know him not 138. On William Coale
still was conversant 'mongst beds of dust 86. On a Drunkard Bibax the Drunkard while he liv'd would say The more I drink the more methinks I may But see how death hath prov'd his saying just For he hath drunk himselfe as dry as dust 87. On a Child Tread softly passenger for here doth lye A dainty Jewell of sweet Infancy A harmlesse babe that onely came and cry'd In baptism to be wash'd from sin and dy'd 88. Another In this marble Casket lyes A matchlesse Jewell of rich priâ—e Whom nature in the worlds disdain But shew'd and put it up again 89. On Mr. Sands Who would live in others breath Fame deceives the dead mans trust When our names doe change by death Sands I was and now am dust 90. On Mr. Goad Go adde this Verse to Goad's herse For Goad is gone but whither Goad himselfe is gone to God 'T was deaths Goad drove him thither 91. On Monday Hallowed be the Sabbath And farewell all worldly pelf The week begins on Tuesday For Munday hath hang'd himself 92. On a Child Here a pretty Baby lyes Sung asleep with Lullabies Pray be silent and not stir Th' easie earth that covers her 93. On a Matron Here lies a wife was chast a mother blest A modest Matron all these in one chest Sarah unto her Mate Mary to God Martha to men whilst here she had aboad 94. In Latine thus Vxor casta Parens felix Matrona pudica Sara viro mundo Martha Maria Deo 95. On a Souldier When I was young in Wars I shed my blood Both for my King and for my Countries good In elder years my care was chief to be Souldier to him that shed his blood for me 96. On Mr. Dumbelow that dyed of the winde Collicke Dead is Dick Dumbelow Would you the reason know Could his tail have but spoken His stout heart had not broken 97. On Mr. Kitchins death Kitchin lyes here for so his name I found I see Death keeps his Kitchin under ground And the poor worms that flesh of late did eat Devour their Kitchin now for want of meat 98. On Isabella a Curtezan He who would write an Epitaph Whereby to make fair Is'bell laugh Must get upon her and write well Here underneath lies Isabell. 99. On a vertuous wife In brief to speak thy praise let this suffice Thou wert a wife most loving modest wise Of children carefull to thy neighbours kind A worthy Mistresse and of liberall mind 100. On Mr. Christopher Lawson Death did not kill unjustly this good man But death in death by death did shew his power His pious deeds and thoughts to heaven fore-ran There to prepare his soule a blessed bower 101. On a Welshman Here lyes puryed under these stones Shon ap Williams ap Shinkyn ap Shones Her was porn in Whales her was kill'd in France Her went to Cot by a very mis-shance La ye now 102. On Mr. Carter burnt by the great powder-mischance in Finsbury Here lies an honest Carter yet no clown Unladen of his cares his end the Crown Vanish'd from hence even in a cloud of smoke A blown-up Citizen and yet not broke 103. On a Lady dying in Childbed Born at the first to bring another forth She leavâ— the world to leave the world her worth Thus Phoenix-like as she was born to bleed Dying her selfe renews it in her seed 104. On a Faulconer Death with her talonâ— having seiz'd this prey After a tedious flight trusâ—'d him away We mark'd him here he fell whence he shall rise At call till then unretriv'd here he lyes 105. On Ioan Truman who had an issue in her legge Here lyes crafty Ioan deny it who can Who liv'd a false maid and dy'd a Truman And this trick she had to make up her cunning Whilst one leg stood still the other was running 106. On a youth Now thou hast heaven for merit but 't is strange Morality should envy at thy change God thought us unfit for such as thee And made thee consort of eternity We grieve not then that thou to heaven art taken But that thou hast thy friends so soon forsaken 107. On Prince Henry Did he dye young O no it could not be For I know few that liv'd so long as he Till God and all men lov'd him then behold The man that lives so long must needs be old 108. On borne before his time Greiv'd at the world and times this early Bloom Look'd round and sigh'd and stole into his Tomb His fall was like his Birth too quick this Rose Made hast to spread and the same hast to close Here lyes his dust but his best Tomb's fled hence For Marble cannot last like Innocence 109. On a very fat man Under this pebble stone Here fast sleepeth one And that is not two Yet was without doubt Far bigger about Then both I and you His kidneys encreast So much that his wast Was hooped all round But his girdle death cuts And down fell his guts ' Bouts heels to the ground 110. On Iohn Newter Reader Iohn Newter who erst plaid The Jack on both sides here is laid Who like the herb Iohn indifferent Was not for King or Parliament Yet fast and loose he could not play With death he took him at a Bay What side his soule hath taken now God or Devil we hardly know But this is certain since he dy'd He hath been mist of neither side 111. On Hocas Pocas Here Hocas lyes with his tricks and his knocks Whom death hath made sure as his Juglers box Who many hath cozen'd by his leiger-demain Iâ— presto convey'd and here underlain Thus Hocas he 's here and here he is not While death plaid the Hocas and brought him to th'pot 112. On a Child of two years old being born and dying in July Here is laid a Iuly flowre With surviving tears bedew'd Not despairing of that houre When her spring shall be renew'd Ere she had her summer seen She was gather'd fresh green 113. On a Cobler Death at a Coblers door oft made a stand And alwayes found him on the mending hand At last came death in very foul weather And ript the sole from the upper leather Death put a trick upon him and what was 't The Cobler call'd for 's Awle death brought his last 114. On a young Gentlewoman Nature in this small volume was about To perfect what in woman was left out Yet carefull least a piece so well begun Should want preservatives when she had done Ere she could finish what she undertook Threw dust upon it and shut up the Book 115. On a Scholler Forbear Friend t'unclaspe this book Only in the forefront look For in it have errours bin Which made the Author call it in Yet know this 't shall have more worth At the second coming forth 116. On a young Woman The body which within this earth is laid Twice six weeks knew a wife a Saint a maid Fair maid chast wife pure Saint yet 't
dead wife for mine alive 449. Meum Tuum Megge lets her husband boast of rule and riches But she rules all the roast and wears the breeches 450. Deaths trade Death is a Fisherman the world we see His Fish-pond is and we the Fishes be He sometimes Angler-like doth with us play And slily takes us one by one away Diseases are the murthering-books which he Doth catch us with the bait mortality Which we poor silly fish devour til strook At last too late we feel the bitter hook At other times he brings his net and then At once sweeps up whole Cities ful of men Drawing up thousands at a draught and saves Onely some few to make the others graves His Net some raging pestilence now he Is not so kind as other Fishers be For if they take one of the smaller â—rye They throw him in again he shall not dye But death is sure to kill all he can get And all is Fish with him that comes to Net 451. Oâ— Bice Bice laughs when no man speakâ— and doth protest It is his own breech there that breakâ— the jest 452. Valiant in drinke Who onely in his Cups will â—ight is like A clock that must be oil'd wel ere it strike 453. Master and Scholler A Pedant ask'd a Puny ripe and bold In an hard frost the Latine word for cold I 'l tell you out of hand quoth he for lo I have it at my fingers ends you know 454. Gasters great belly Gaster did seem to me to want his eyes For he could neither see his legs nor thighs But yet it was not so he had his sight Onely his belly hanged in his light 455. Drunken Dick. When Dick for want of drunken mates grows sick Then with himself to work goes faithfull Dick. The buttery dore t'himself he shutteth close That done then goes the pot straight wayes to 's nose A health quoth noble Dick each hogs-head than Must seeming pledge this honest faithfull man But straight from kindnes Dick to humors grows And then to th'barrels he his valour shows Throwing about the cups the pots the glasses And rails at the tuns calling them drunken asses Ne'r ceasing this same faithfull coyl to keep Till under th'hogshead Dick fals fast asleep 456. In Sextinum A pretty block Sextinus names his Hat So much the fitter for his head by that 457. Sine sanguine Ralph challeng'd Robin time and place appointed Their Parents heard on 't O how they lamented But good luck was they soon were freed of fear The one ne'r meant the other came not there 458. On humane Bodies Our bodies are like shooes which off we cast Physick their Cobler is and death the Last 459. On Trencherman Tom shifts the Trenchers yet he never can Endure that luke-warm name of Servingman Serve or not serve let Tom doe what he can He is a serving who 's a Trencher-man 460. A Toothlesse-pratler Nature the teeth doth as an hedge ordain The nimble frisking tongue for to contain No marvel then since that the hedge is out If Fuscus tongue walketh so fast about 461. A musicall Lady A Lady fairer far then fortunate In dancing thus o'r-shot her self of late The Musick not in tune pleasd not her mind For which he with the Fidlers fault did find Fidlers quoth she your Fiddles tune for shame But as she was a speaking of the same To mend the consort let she did a F. Whereas the fidling knaves thus did her greet Madam your pipe 's in tune it plays most sweet Strike up qd they but then the knaves did smile And as you pâ—pâ— wee 'l dance another while At which away the blushing Lady flings But as she goes her former notes she sings 462. In Laurettam Lauretta is laid o'r how I 'l not say And yet I think two manner of wayes I may Doubly laid o'r videlicet her face Laid o'r with colours and her coat with lace 463. On Macer You call my verses toy's th' are so 't is true Yet they are better then ought comes from you 464. Briskap the Gallant Though thou hast little judgement in thy head More than to dresse thee drink and goe to bed Yet may'st thou take the wall th' way shalt lead Sith Logick wills that simple things precede 465. Necessity hath no Law Florus did beat his Cook and 'gan to sweaee Because his meat was rotten roasted there Peace good Sir quoth the Cook Need hath no Law 'T is rotten roasted 'cause 't was rotten raw 466. In Carientium Garentius might have wedded where he woo'd But he was poor his means was nothing good 'T was but for lack of living that he lost her For why no penny now no Pater noster 467. On Harpax Harpax gave to the poor all by his will Because his heir should not faign'd tears distill 468. To a Barber Tonsorius onely lives by cutting haire And yet he brags that Kings to him sit bare Me thinks he should not brag and boast of it For he must stand to beggars while they sit 469. Vpon Grandâ—orto The morrow after just Saint Georges day Grandâ—orto piteous drunk sate in a ditch His hands by 's side his gelding stray'd away His scarlet hose and doublet very rich With mud and mire all beastly raid and by His feather with his close-stool-hat did ly We ask'd the reason of his sitting there Zounds 'cause I am King Solomon quoth he And in my Throne then for the Love we beare Replyed my selfe unto your Majesty Wee 'l pull you out henceforth wish your grace Would speak your Proverbs in a warmer place 470. The Fencer and Physick Doctor Lie thus the Fencer cryes thus must you guard Thus must you slip thus point thus pass thus ward And if you kill him Sir this trick learn then With this same trick you may kill many men A Doctor standing by cryes Fencing fool Both you he to me may come to school Thou dost but prate my deeds shall show my skil Where thou hurt'st one an hundred I doe kill 471. In Lusiam Lusia who scorns all others imitations Cannot abide to be out-gone in fashions She sayes she cannot have a hat or ruffe A gown a peticoat a band or cuffe But that these Citizens whom she doth hate Will get into 't at ne'r so dear a rate But Lusia now doth such a fashion wear Whose hair is curl'd and costs her som what dear That there 's no Citizen what e'r she be Can be transform'd so like an Owl as she 472. Kisses Give the food that satisfies a Guest Kisses are but dry banquets to a feast 473. A Civilian A lusty old grown-grave gray-headed Sire Stole to a wench to quench his lusts desire She ask'd him what profession he might be I am a Civil Lawyer Girle quoth he A Civil Lawyer Sir you make me muse Your talk 's too broad for Civil men to use If Civil Lawyers are such bawdy men Oh what quoth she are other Lawyers then 474. Rainaldo and
Kit Fowleâ— Was held an honest man though no good Bowler 44. On Dorothy Rich. Here resteth young Doll Rich that dainty drab Who troubled long with itch dy'd of the scab 45. On Ralph Ralph bids adue to pleasures good or ill But tels you true 't is much against his will 46. On Walter Moone Here lies Wat Moone that great Tobacconist Who dy'd too soon for lack of had I wist 47. On Iohn Cooling a Player-foole Death hath too soon remov'd from us Io. Cooling That was so well belov'd and liv'd by fooling 48. On a Welshman Who living least espy'd his life should leese By meer Metheglin dy'd and tosted Cheese 49. On Io. Long. Here sleep I. Long who liv'd till New-yearâ—-tide Full fourscore strong but then fell sick and dy'd 50. On Stephen Spooner Death hath time borrow'd of our neighbour Spooner Whose wife much sorrow'd that he di'd no sooner 51. On a Lawyer God works wonders now and than Here lyes a Lawyer dy'd an honest man 52. On a Waterman Here sleepâ— Will Slater why by deathâ— command Hath left the water to possesse the land 53. On Sir Francis Drake England his heart his Corps the waters have And that which raisd his fame became his grave 54. On a Gallant Who cloth of Tissue wore here flat doth lye Having no issue more than that in 's thigh 55. On Iohn Garret Gone is Iohn Garret who to all mens thinking For love to Claret kill'd himself with drinking 56. On notable Ned. Cause of the good nought must be said but good 'T is well for Ned that nought he understood 57. On a Taylour who dyed of the stitch Here lies a Taylour in this ditch Who liv'd and dyed by the stitch 58. On a travelling Beggar Here lies a Vagrant person whom our laws Of late grown strict denied passage 'cause He wandring thus therefore return he must From whence at first he hither came to dust 59. On a Mason So long the Mason wrought on others wals That his own house of clay to ruine fals No wonder spitefull death wrought his annoy He us'd to build and death seeks to destroy 60. On a Schoolmaster The Grammar School a long time taught I have Yet all my skill could not Decline the grave But yet I hope it one day will be shown In no Case save the Ablative alone 61. On Prince Henry I have no vein in Verse but if I could Distill on every word a Pearl I would Our sorrows pearls drop not from pens but eyes Whilst other Muses write mine onely cryes 62. On the death of Mr. Newcomin of Clare-hall in Cambridge Weep ye Clarenses weep all about For New-com-in is new gone out Weep not Clarenses weep not aâ— all He 's gone but from Clare to Trinity-Hal 63. On Hobson the Carrier Hobson what 's out of sight is out of mind Is gone and left his Letters here behind He that with so much paper us'd to meet Is now alas content to take one sheet 64. Another He that such carriage store was wont to have Is carried now himselfe unto his grave O strange he that in life ne'r made but one Six Carriers makes now he is dead and gone 65. Another Here Hobson lyes prest with a heavy load Who now is gone the old and common road The waggon he so lov'd so lov'd to ride That he was drawing on whilst that he dy'd 66. Another Hobson's not dead but Charls the Northern Swain Hath sent for him to draw his lightsome wain 67. On a Footman This nimble Footman ran away from death And here he rested being out of breath Here death him over-took made him his slave And sent him on an arrand to the grave 68. Iustus Lipsius Some have high mountains of Parian stone And some in brasse carve their inscription Some have their Tombs of costly marbles rear'd But in our tears onely are they interr'd 69. On a Child Like Birds of prey Death snatche away This harmlesse Dove Whose soule so pure Is now secure In heaven above 70. On a rich Gentleman Of woods and plains and hills and vales Of fields of meads of parks and pales Of all I had this I possesse I need no more I have no lesse 71. On a Child That flesh is grasse Its grace a flower Read ere you passe Whom worms devoure 72. On a Lock-smith A zealous Lock-smith dy'd of late Who by this time 's at heaven gate The reason why he will not knock Is 'cause he means to pick the lock 73. On a Collier Here lies the Collier Ienkin Dashes By whom death nothing gain'd he swore For living he was dust and ashes And being dead he is no more 74. On Dick Pinner Here lyes Dick Pinner O ungentle death Why didst thou rob Dick Pinner of his breath For living he by scraping of a pin Made better dust than thou hast made of him 75. On a Sack-sucker Good Reader blesse thee be assur'd The spirit of Sack lyes here immur'd Who havock't all he could come by For Sack and here quite sack'd doth ly 76. On a Child Into this world as stranger to an Inne This Child came Guest-wise where when it had bin A while and found nought worthy of his stay He onely broke his fast and went away 77. On a Candle Here lyes the Chandlers chiefest joy Here lyes the Schollers pale-fac'd boy Having nought else but skin and bone Dy'd of a deep Consumption 78. On T. H. the Pannier-man of the Temple Here lyes Tom Hacket this Marble under Who often made the Cloysters thunder He had a horn and when he blew iâ— Call'd many a Cuckold that never knew it 79. On a young Infant The life of Man Is but a span The common saying is But death did pinch His to an inch Ere he could say what 's this Yet he hath gain'd not lost thereby Changing time for eternity 80. On Mr. Calfes death Heaven of his soul take charge for he Of all his dayes liv'd but the halfe Who might have grown to be an Oxe But dyed as you see a Calfe 81. On Bolus If gentlenesse could tame the Fates or wit Delude them Bolus had not dyed yet But one that death o'r-rules in judgement sits And sayes our sins are stronger then our wits 82. On a Clowne Softly tread this earth upon For here lyes our Corydon Who through care to save his sheep Watch'd too much Oh let him sleep 83. On a Child As carefull Nurses on their beds doe lay Their babes which would too long the wantons play So to prevent my youths ensuing crimes Nature my Nurse laid me to bed betimeâ— 85. On a Musitian Be not offended at our sad complaint You Quire of Angels that have gain'd a Saint Where all perfection met in skill and voyce We mourne our losse but yet commend your choyce 85. On a Gardener Could he forget his death that every houre Was emblem'd to it by the fading flowre Should he not mind his end yes sure he must That
his self He hated men men did not love him No evill but his own might move him He was and was earths load and care He is and is hells brand and share 154. On Iohn Dawson Butler Dawson the Butler's dead although I think Poets were nere insusd with single drink I le spend a farthing Muse a watery Verse Will serve the turn to cast upon his Herse If any cannot weep among us here Take off his cup and so squeze out a teare Weep O ye barrels let your drippings fall In trickling streams make wast more prodigall Then when our beer was good that Iohn may float To Stix in beer and lift up Charrons boat With wholsome waves and as the Conduits ran VVith Claret at the Coronation So let your channels flow with single Tiff For Iohn I hope is crown'd take off your whiff Ye men of Rosemary and drink up all Remembring 't is a Butlers Funerall Had he been Master of good duble beer My life for his Iohn Dawson had been here 155. On Turn-Coat Passenger Stay Reade Walke Here Lyeth ANDREW TURNCOAT WHO WAS NEITHER SLAVE NOR SOULDIER NOR PHYSITIAN NOR FENCER NOR COBLER NOR FILCHER NOR LAWYER NOR USURER BUT ALL WHO LIVED NEITHER IN CITY NOR COUNTRY NOR AT HOME NOR ABROAD NOR AT SEA NOR AT LAND NOR HERE NOR ELSEWHERE BUT EVERY WHERE WHO DIED NEITHER OF HUNGER NOR POYSON NOR HATCHET NOR HALTER NOR DOGGE NOR DISEASE BUT OF ALL TOGETHER 1.1 H. BEING NEITHER HIS DEBTOR NOR HEIRE NOR KINSMAN NOR FRIEND NOR NEIGHBOUR BUT ALL IN HIS MEMORY HAVE ERECTED THIS NEITHER MONUMENT NOR TOMB NOR SEPULCHER BUT ALL WISHING NEITHER EVIL NOR WEL NEITHER TO THEE NOR TO ME NOR HIM BUT ALL UNTO ALL. 156. On a Dyer Though death the Dyer colour-lesse hath made Yet he dies pale and will not leave his trade But being dead the means yet doth not lack To dye his friends cloth into mourning black Some sure foresaw his death for they of late Usd to exclaim upon his dying Fate And weak and faint he seem'd oft times t' have been For to change colours often he was seen Yet there no matter was so foul but he Would set a colour on it handsomely Death him no unexpected stroke could give That learnt to dye since he began to live He shall yet prove what he before had try'd And shall once more live after he hath dy'd 157. On a disagreeing Couple Hic jacet ille qui centies mille Did scold with his Wife Cum illo jacet illa quae communis in villa Did quiâ—tance his life His name was Nick the which was sick And that very male Her name was Nan who loved well a man So Gentlemen vale 158. On a Foot-boy that dyed with overmuch running Base Tyrant death thus to assail one tir'd Who scarce his latest breath being left expir'd And being too too cruell thus to stay So swift a course at length ran quite away But pretty boy be sure it was not death That left behind thy body out of breath Thy soul and body running in a race Thy soul held out thy body tir'd apace Thy soul gained and left that lump of clay To rest it selfe untill the latter day 159. On a Scrivener Here to a period is the Scrivener come This is the last sheet his full point this Tomb. Of all aspersionsâ— excuse him not 'T is known he liv'd not without many a blot Yet he no ill example shew'd to any But rather gave good Copies unto many â—e in good Letters hath alwayes been bred And hath writ more then many men have read He rulers had at his command by Law And though he could not hang yet he could draw He far more bond-men had and made then any A dash alone of his pen ruin'd many That not without good reason we might call His Letters great or little Capitall Yet is the Scriveners fate as sure as just When he hath all done then he falls to dust 160. On Mr. P. Gray Reader stay And if I had no more to say But here doth lye till the last day All that is left of Philip Gray It might thy patience richly pay For if such men as he could dye What surety of life have thou and I 161. On a Chandler How might his dayes end that made weeks or he That could make light here laid in darknesse be Yet since his weeks were spent how could he chuse But be depriv'd of light and his trade lose Yet dead the Chandler is and sleeps in peace No wonder long since melted was his greace It seems that he did evill for day-light He hated and did rather wish the night Yet came his works to light and were like gold Prov'd in the fire but could not tryall hold His candle had an end and deaths black night Is an extinguisher of all his light 162. On a Smith Farewell stout Iron-side not all thine Art Could make a shield against deaths envious Dart. Without a fault no man his life doth passe For to his Vice the Smith addicted was He oft as Choler is increast by fire Was in a fume and much inclin'd to ire He had so long been usd to forge that he Was with a black-coal markt for forgery But he for witnesse needed not to care Who but a Black-smith was though ne'r so fair And opportunities he needed not That knew to strike then when their'n was hot As the door-Nailes he made hee 's now as dead He them and death him hath knockt on the head 163. On a man drown'd in the Snow Within a fleece of silent waters drown'd Before my death was known a grave I found The which exil'd my life from her sweet home For grief straight froze it selfe into a tombe One element my angry Fate thought meet To be my death grave tomb and winding sheet Phaebus himself an Epitaph had writ But blotting many ere he thought one fit He wrote untill my grave and tomb were gone And 't was an Epitaph that I had none For every one that passed by that way Without a sculture read that there I lay Here now the second time untomb'd I lye And thus much have the best of Destiny Corruption from which onely one was free Devour'd my grave but did not feed on me My first grave took me from the race of men My last shall give me back to life agen 164. On Doctor Hackets wifâ— Drop mournfull eyes your pearly trickling tears Flow streams of sadnesse down the spangled sphears Fall like the tumbling Cataracts of Nile Make deaf the world with cryes let not a smile Appear let not an eye be seen to sleep Nor slumber onely let them serve to weep Her dear lamented death who in her life Was a religious loyall loving wife Of Children tender to an husband kind Th' undoubted symtomes of a vertuous mind Which makes her glorious 'bove the highest pole Where Angels sing sweet Requiums to her soule She liv'd a none-such did a none-such dye
smoaking Sacrifices that We here can onely wonder at A honey tongue that could dispence Torrents of sacred Eloquence That 't is no wonder if this stone Because it cannot speak doth groan For could Mortality assent These ashes would prove eloquent 180. On Sir Walter Rawleigh at his Execution Great heart who taught thee so to dye Death yielding thee the victory Where took'st thou leave of life if there How couldst thou be so freed from fear But sure thou dyest and quiâ—'st the state Of flesh and blood before the Fate Else what a miracle were wrought To triumph both in flesh and thought I saw in every stander by Pale death life onely in thine eye Th' example that thou left'st was then We look for when thou dy'st agen Farewell truth shall thy story say We dy'd thou onely liv'dst that day 181. On Sir Horatio Palavozeene Here lies Sir Horatio Palavozeene Who rob'd the Pope to pay the Queene And was a thief A thief thou ly'st For why he rob'd but Antichrist Him death with his beesome swept from Babram Into the bosome of old Abraham But then came Hercules with his Club And struck him down to Belzebub 182. On Sir Francis Drake drowned Where Drake first found there last he lost his fame And for Tomb left nothing but his name His body 's bury'd under some greaâ— wave The Sea that was his glory is his grave Of him no man true Epitaph can make For who can say Here lies Sir Francis Drake 183. Sir Ph. Sidney on himselfe It is not I that dye I do but leave an Inn Where harbour'd was with me all filthy sin It is not I that dye I doe but now begin Into etenall joy by faith to enter in Why mourn you then my Parents Friends and Kin Lament you when I lose not when I win 184. On Sir Walâ—er Rawleigh If spight be pleasd when as her object 's dead Or malice pleasd when it hath bruisd the head Or envy pleasd when it hath what it would Then all are pleasd for Rawleighs blood is cold Which were it warm and active would o'rcome And strike the two first blind the other dumbe 185. On Sir Philip Sidney Reader within this ground Sir Philip Sidney lyes Nor is it sir that more I should acquaint Left superstition rise And men adore A Lover Scholler Souldier and a Saint 186. On a Learned Nobleman He that can read a sigh and spell a tear Pronounce amazement or accent will fear Or get all grief by heart he onely he Is fit to write or read thy Elegie Unvalued Lord that wert so hard a text Read in one age and understood i'th'next 187. On the Tombs in Westminster Mortality behold and feare What a change of flesh is here Think how many Royall bones Sleep within these heaps of Stones Here they lye had Realms and Lands Who now want strength to stir their hands Where from their Pulpits seal'd with dust They preach in greatnesse is no trust Here 's an acre sown indeed With the richest royal'st seed That the earth did e'r suck in Since the first man dy'd for sin Here the bones of birth have cry'd Though Gods they were as men they dy'd Here are Sands ignoble things Dropt from the ruin'd sides of Kings Here 's a world of Pomp and State Buried in dust once dead by fate 188. On Queen Elizabeth Kings Queens Mens Virgins eyes See where the mirrour lyes In whom her friends have seen A Kings state in a Queen In whom her foes survai'd A Mans heart in a Maid Whom lest Men for her Piety Should grow to think some Deity Heaven hence by death did summon Her to shew that she was Woman 189. On Queen Anne who dyed in March was kept all Aprill and buried in May. March with his winds hath struck a Cedar tall And weeping Aprill mourns the Cedars fall And May intends her month no flowres shall bring Since she must lose the flow'r of all the Spring Thy March his winds have caused Aprill show'rs And yet sad May must lose his flow'r of flow'rs 190 On Prince Henry Reader wonder think it none Though I speak and am a stone Here is shriâ—'d Coelestialll dust And I keep it but in trust Should I not my treasure tell Wonder then you might as well How this Stone could chuse but break If it had not learn'd to speak Hence amaz'd and ask not me Whose these sacred ashes be Purposely it is conceal'd For alasse were that reveal'd All that read would by and by Melt themselves to tears and dy 191. On King Iames his death We justly when a meaner subject dyes Begin his Epitaph with Here he lyes But when a King whose memory remains Triumphant over death with here he reignes Now he is dead to whom the world imputes Deservedly eternall Attributes For shall we think his glory can decease That 's honour'd with the stile The King of Peace Whose happy union of Great Britanny Calls him the blessed King of Unity And in whose Royall Title it ensu'th Defender of the Faith and King of Truth These girt thy brows with an immortal Crown Great Iames turn thy Tomb into a Throne 192. On the King of Sweden The world expects Swede's monumentall stone Should equall the Philosophers each groane Should breath a golden vein and every verse Sould draw Elixar from his fatall Herse No fitter subject where strong lines should meet Than such a noble Center could the feet Of able Verse but trace his Victories Where all 's transcendent who out parallel'd Pluiarchs selected Heroes and is held The tenth of Worthies who hath over-acted Great German-Comment and contracted Hâ— expeditions by preventing aw He often overcame before he saw And what of his great Son Iove us'd to say He alwayes either found or made his way Such was his personall and single fight As if that death it self had ra'n her flight Into brave Swedensâ—cabbard â—cabbard when he drew Death with that steel inevitably flew His Camp a Church wherein the Gen'ralls life Was the best Sermon and the onely strife Amongst his was to repeat it bended knee Was his prime posture and his enemy Found this most prevalent his discipline Impartiall and exact it did out-shine Those Antique Martiall Grecian Roman lamps From which most of the worlds succeeding Camps Have had their borrow'd light this this was he All this and more yet even all this can dye Death surely ventur'd on the Swede to try If heav'n were subject to mortality And shot his soule to Heav'n as if that she Could if not kill unthrone a Deity Both Death 's deceiv'd 't is in another sense That Heaven is said to suffer violence No ir'n Chain-shot but 't is the golden chaine Of Vertue and the Graces are the maine That doe unhinge the everlasting Gates All which like yoked undivided maâ—es Were lin'd in Sweden where then were â—nchain'd Like Orthodoxall Volumes nothing feign'd Though fairly bound his story is not dipt In oyle but in his