Brought forth in Sorrow, and bred up in Care
Two tender Children here entombed are:
One Place, one Sire, one Womb their being gave,
They had one mortall Sicknesse, and one Grave.
And though they cannot number many Yeeres
In their Account, yet with their Parent's teares
This comfort mingles. Though their Dayes were few,
They scarcely Sinne, but never Sorrow, knew:
So that they well might boast, they carry'd hence,
What riper Ages loose, their Innocence.
You Pretty Losses, that revive the fate
Which in your Mother, Death did Antedate,
O let my high-swol'n Grief distill on You
The saddest dropps of a Parentall Dew:
You ask no other Dowre then what my eyes
Lay out on your untimely Exequyes:
When once I have discharg'd that mournfull skoare,
Heav'n hath decreed you ne're shall cost mee more,
Since you release, and quitt my borrow'd trust,
By taking this Inheritance of Dust.