Oh, happy youth, to thy still growing fame,
To thy long peace in earth, this sacred knell
Our last loves ring—farewell, farewell, farewell!
Go, happy soul, to thy eternal birth!
And press his body lightly, gentle Earth.”
An Epitaph
And among the poems attributed to Francis Beaumont is one generally supposed to be addressed to Fletcher, and speaking of an alliance hidden from the world—of which the last five lines run:—
“If when I die, physicians doubt
What caused my death, and these to view