Loe here the precious dust is layd;
Whose purely-temper'd clay was made
So fine that it the read more

Loe here the precious dust is layd;
Whose purely-temper'd clay was made
So fine that it the guest betray'd.
Else the soule grew so fast within,
It broke the outward shall of sinne
And so was hatch'd a cherubin.

Farewell, vain world, I've had enough of thee,
And Valies't not what thou Can'st say of me;
read more

Farewell, vain world, I've had enough of thee,
And Valies't not what thou Can'st say of me;
Thy Smiles I count not, nor thy frowns I fear,
My days are past, my head lies quiet here.
What faults you saw in me take Care to shun,
Look but at home, enough is to be done.

If Paris that brief flight allow,
My humble tomb explore!
It bears: "Eternity, be thou
read more

If Paris that brief flight allow,
My humble tomb explore!
It bears: "Eternity, be thou
My refuge!" and no more.

Speme e Fortune, addio; che' in porto entrai.
Schernite gli altri; ch'io vi spregio omai.

Speme e Fortune, addio; che' in porto entrai.
Schernite gli altri; ch'io vi spregio omai.

"Let there be no inscription upon my tomb. Let no man write my
epitaph. No man can write my read more

"Let there be no inscription upon my tomb. Let no man write my
epitaph. No man can write my epitaph. I am here ready to die.
I am not allowed to vindicate my character; and when I am
prevented from vindicating myself, let no man dare calumniate me.
Let my character and motives repose in obscurity and peace, till
other times and other men can do them justice."

Ere sin could blight or sorrow fade,
Death came with friendly care;
The opening bud to Heaven read more

Ere sin could blight or sorrow fade,
Death came with friendly care;
The opening bud to Heaven conveyed,
And bade it blossom there.

Here lies who, born a man, a grocer died.
[Fr., Ne homme--mort epicier.]

Here lies who, born a man, a grocer died.
[Fr., Ne homme--mort epicier.]

Kind reader! take your choice to cry or laugh;
Here Harod lies--but where's his Epitaph?
If such read more

Kind reader! take your choice to cry or laugh;
Here Harod lies--but where's his Epitaph?
If such you seek, try Westminister, and view
Ten thousand, just as fit for him as you.

And the voice of men shall call,
"He is fallen like us all,
Though the weapon of read more

And the voice of men shall call,
"He is fallen like us all,
Though the weapon of the Lord was in his hand:"
And thine epitaph shall be--
"He was wretched ev'n as we;"
And thy tomb may be unhonoured in the land.