ON THE TOMBS IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY

Mortality, behold and fear!

What a change of flesh is here!

Think how many royal bones

Sleep within these heaps of stones;

Here they lie had realms and lands,

Who now want strength to stir their hands;

Where from their pulpits sealed with dust

They preach:—"In greatness is no trust."

Here's an acre sown indeed

With the richest royallest seed

That the Earth did e'er suck in

Since the first man died for sin:

Here the bones of birth have cried:—

"Though gods they were, as men they died!"

Here are sands, ignoble things,

Dropt from the ruined sides of Kings:

Here's a world of pomp and state

Buried in dust, once dead by fate.

Francis Beaumont