Classic Poem

I.

 Though marble porphyry, and mourning touch,
May praise these spoiles, yet can they not too much;
For beauty last, and * * * this stone doth close,
Once earth's delight, heaven's care, a purest Rose.
And, reader, shouldst thou but let fall a teare
Upon it, other flow'rs shall here appeare,
Sad violets and hyacinths, which grow
With markes of griefe, a publike losse to show.

II.

Relenting eye, which daignest to this stone
To lend a look, behold here he laid one,
The living and the dead interr'd, for dead
The turtle in its mate is; and she fled
From earth, her * * * choos'd this place of griefe
To bound * * * thoughts, a small and sad reliefe.
His is this monument, for her's no art
Could frame, a pyramide rais'd of his heart.

III.

Instead of epitaphs and airy praise,
This monument a lady chaste did raise
To her lord's living fame, and after death
Her body doth unto this place bequeath,
To rest with his, till God's shrill trumpet sound:
Though time her life, no time her love could bound.