Classic Poem

SAT. II.

Greet Osmond knows not how he shalbe knowne
When once great Osmond shalbe dead & gone:
Vnlesse he reare vp some ritch monument,
Ten furlongs neerer to the firmament.
Some stately tombe he builds, Egyptian wise,
Rex Regum written on the Pyramis :
Whereas great Arthur lies in ruder oke,
That neuer felt none but the fellers stroke:
Small honour can be got with gawdie graue:
Nor it thy rotting name from death can saue.
The fayrer tombe, the fowler is thy name:
The greater pompe procuring greater shame.
Thy monument make thou thy liuing deeds,
No other tombe then that, true vertue needs.
What? had he nought wherby he might be knowne
But costly pilements of some curious stone?
The matter Natures, and the workmans frame,
His purses cost; where then is Osmonds name?
Deseru'dst thou ill? well were thy name and thee
Wert thou inditched in great secrecie,
Where as no passenger might curse thy dust,
Nor dogs sepulchrall sate their gnawing lust.
Thine ill desarts cannot be grau'd with thee,
So long as on thy graue they engraued bee.