If a large hart: Joyned with a Noble minde
Shewing true worth, unto all good inclin'd,
If faith in freindship, Justice unto all,
Leave such a Memory as we may call
Happy, Thine is: Then pious Marble keepe
His Just Fame waking, Though his lov'd dost sleepe.
And though Death can devoure all that hath breath,
And Monuments them selves have had a Death,
Nature shan't suffer this, to ruinate,
Nor time demolish't, nor an envious fate,
Rais'd by a Just hand not vaine glorious pride
Who'd be conceal'd, wer't modesty to hide
Such an affection did so long survive
The object of't: yet lov'd It as alive.
And this grate Blessing to his Name doth give
To make It by his Tombe, and Issue live.
My dearest dust could not thy hasty day
Afford thy drowzy patience leave to stay
One hower longer; so that we might either
Sate up, or gone to bedd together?
But since thy finisht labor hath possest
Thy weary limbs with early rest,
Enjoy it sweetly; and thy widdowe bride
Shall soone repose her by thy slumbring side;
Whose business, now is only to prepare
My nightly dress, and call to prayre:
Mine eyes wax heavy and the day growes old
The dew falls thick, my bloud growes cold;
Draw, draw the closed curtaynes: and make roome;
My deare, my dearest dust; I come, I come.