The Buriers, and the Mourners, in the street,
Conveying of some Neighbour, to that home,
Which must, e're long, your dwelling-place become.
You see the Race, of many a youthfull Sonne
Is finish'd, e're his Father's Course is done;
And, that, the hand of Death, regardeth neither
Sexe, Youth, nor Age; but, mingleth all together.
You, many times, in your owne houses, heare
The groanes of Death, and, view your Children, there,
Your loving Parents, or, beloved Wives,