Classic Poem

I wonder not thou'rt dead, but how could'st live:
Or to a Sceleton why they buriall give.
Sure Pelican like to your own children food,
You first your bowels gave, and then your blood.
Or age refin'd thee, 'cause the way was strait,
And took thy flesh, to fit thee for Heav'n gate.
Or twindled to a Child, 'cause none must venter,
But who's child-like, the heavenly Palace enter.
They live long, who live well: what meets in you
To live both long and well, is rarely true.
A parent not in empty name, but care:
Indeed a widow, yet no widow were,
Your husband in your love to him surviv'd;
Whose heart, flesh, life, was his, was he short liv'd?
Who would your praises fully but indite,
Doth need an Age, long as you liv'd, to write.