Classic Poem

Q V ick soul'd Pythagoras , ├┤ thou that wert,
So many men, and didst so oft revert
From shades of death (if we may trust to fame)
With losse of nothing but thy buried name;
Hadst thou but liv'd in this our Ailmer's time,
Thou wouldst have dy'd once more to live in him;
Or had our Ailmer In those dayes of thine
But dy'd, and left so glorious, so divine
A soule as his, how would thy hasty brest
Have gasp'd to entertaine so faire a guest!
Which if obtained, had (no doubt) supplide thee
With that immortall state thy Syre deny'd thee.