Classic Poem

I Wondred not to heare so brave an end,
Because I knew, who made it could contend
With death, and conquer, and in open chace
Would spit defiance in his conquered face;
And did: Dauntlesse he trod him underneath
To show the weaknesse of unarmed death:
Nay, had report, or niggard Fame deny'd
His name, it had beene knowne 'twas Ailmer dy'd.
It was no wonder, to heare rumour tell,
That he which dy'd so oft, once dy'd so well:
Great Lord of life, how hath thy dying breath,
Made man whom death had conquer'd, conquer death.