EPITAPH ON THE LADY SALTER, WIFE TO SIR WILLIAM SALTER by THOMAS CAREW

THE harmony of colours, features, grace,
Resulting airs (the magic of a face)
Of musical sweet tunes, all which combin'd
To crown one sovereign beauty, lies confin'd

To this dark vault. She was a cabinet
Where all the choicest stones of price were set:
Whose native colours purest lustre lent
Her eye, cheek, lip, a dazzling ornament;
Whose rare and hidden virtues did express
Her inward beauties, and mind's fairer dress.
The constant diamond, the wise chrysolite,
The devout sapphire, em'rald apt to write
Records of memory, cheerful agate, grave
And serious onyx, topaz that doth save
The brain's calm temper, witty amethyst,
This precious quarry, or what else the list
On Aaron's ephod planted had, she wore:
One only pearl was wanting to her store,
Which in her Saviour's book she found express'd:
To purchase that, she sold Death all the rest.

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