Classic Poem

Let no profane ignoble foot tread neere
This hallow'd peece of Earth; Dorsett lyes here.
A small sad relique of a Noble Spirit
Free as the Aire, and ample as his meritt:
Whose least perfection was large, and great
Enough to make a common man compleat.
A Soule refin'd and cull'd from many men,
That reconcil'd the Sword unto the Pen,
Using both well. No proud forgetting Lord,
But mindfull of meane names, and of his word.
One that did love for honour, not for ends;
And had the noblest way of making freinds
By loving first. One that did know the Court,
Yet understood it better by report
Then practise. For He nothing took from thence,
But the King's favour for his recompence.
One for Religion, or his Countrye's good
That valew'd not his Fortune nor his Blood.
One high in faire Opinion, rich in praise;
And full of all wee could have wish't, but Dayes.

Hee that is warn'd of this, and shall forbeare
To vent a Sigh for him, or lend a Teare;
May he live long and scorn'd, unpitty'd fall,
And want a Mourner at his Funerall.