545. TO HIS WORTHY KINSMAN, MR. STEPHEN
SOAME.
Nor is my number full till I inscribe
Thee, sprightly Soame, one of my righteous tribe;
A tribe of one lip, leaven, and of one
Civil behaviour, and religion;
A stock of saints, where ev'ry one doth wear
A stole of white, and canonised here;
Among which holies be thou ever known,
Brave kinsman, mark'd out with the whiter stone
Which seals thy glory, since I do prefer
Thee here in my eternal calender.
546. TO HIS TOMB-MAKER.
Go I must; when I am gone,
Write but this upon my stone:
Chaste I lived, without a wife,
That's the story of my life.
Strewings need none, every flower
Is in this word, bachelour.
547. GREAT SPIRITS SUPERVIVE.
Our mortal parts may wrapp'd in sear-cloths lie:
Great spirits never with their bodies die.
548. NONE FREE FROM FAULT.
Out of the world he must, who once comes in.
No man exempted is from death, or sin.
549. UPON HIMSELF BEING BURIED.
Let me sleep this night away,
Till the dawning of the day;
Then at th' opening of mine eyes
I, and all the world, shall rise.