Adieu, great sir, whose total he that will
Describe in folio needs a cherub's quill.
Zealous posterity your tomb shall stir,
Hoard up your dust, rifle your sepulchre,
And (as the Turks did Scanderbeg's of old)
Shall wear your bones in amulets of gold.
—But my blasphemous pen profanes his glory;
I'll say but this to all his tragic story:
Were not the world well-nigh its funeral
60I'd ne'er believe so bright a star could fall.