Classic Poem

Hence, hence, profane; soft silence let us have;
While we this Trentall sing about thy Grave.
Had Wolves or Tigers seen but thee,
They wo'd have shew'd civility;
And in compassion of thy yeeres,
Washt those thy purple wounds with tears.
But since th'art slaine; and in thy fall,
The drooping Kingdome suffers all.
Chorus

This we will doe; we'll daily come
And offer Tears upon thy Tomb:
And if that they will not suffice,
Thou shalt have soules for sacrifice.

Sleep in thy peace, while we with spice perfume thee,
And Cedar wash thee, that no times consume thee.

Live, live thou dost, and shalt; for why?
Soules doe not with their bodies die:
Ignoble off-springs, they may fall
Into the flames of Funerall:
When as the chosen seed shall spring
Fresh, and for ever flourishing.
Chorus

And times to come shall, weeping, read thy glory,
Lesse in these Marble stones, then in thy story.