You blessed shades, which give mee silent rest,
Wittnes butt this when death hath clos'd mine eyes,
And separated mee from earthly ties,
Beeing from hence to higher place adrest;

How oft in you I have laine heere oprest,
And have my miseries in woefull cries
Deliver'd forth, mounting up to the skies
Yett helples back returnd to wound my brest,

Which wounds did butt strive how, to breed more harme
To mee, who, can bee cur'de by noe one charme
Butt that of love, which yett may mee releeve;

If nott, lett death my former paines redeeme,
My trusty freinds, my faith untouch'd esteeme
And wittnes I could love, who soe could greeve.