Marble, weep, for thou dost cover A dead beauty underneath thee, R ich, as nature could bequeath thee: G rant then, no rude hand remove her. A ll the gazers on the skies R ead not in fair heaven's story, E xpresser truth, or truer glory, T han they might in her bright eyes. R are, as wonder, was her wit; A nd like Nectar ever flowing: T ill time, strong by her bestowing, C onquered hath both life and it. L ife, whose grief was out of fashion, I n these times. Few so have rued F ate, in a brother. To conclude, F or wit, feature, and true passion, E arth, thou hast not such another. |