Here lies a Virgin, and as sweet As ere was wrapt in winding sheet. Her name if next you wo'd have knowne, The Marble speaks it Mary Stone: Who dying in her blooming yeares, This Stone, for names sake, melts to teares. If fragrant Virgins you'l but keep A Fast, while Jets and Marbles weep, And praying, strew some Roses on her, You'l do my Neice abundant honour. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MACFLECKNOE; OR, A SATIRE UPON THE TRUE-BLUE-PROTESTANT POET by JOHN DRYDEN SUMMER'S LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT: SPRING by THOMAS NASHE THE RUBAIYAT, 1879 EDITION: 7 by OMAR KHAYYAM THE COW by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON POPPY: FANTASTIC EXTRAVAGANCE by FRANCIS THOMPSON |