So much as for an epitaph for thee.
I do not like the office. Nor is 't fit,
Thou, who didst lend our age such sums of wit,
Shouldst now reborrow from her bankrupt mine
That ore to bury thee, which once was thine.
Rather still leave us in thy debt; and know
(Exalted soul!) more glory 'tis to owe
Unto thy hearse what we can never pay,
50Than with embased coin those rites defray.
Commit we then thee to thyself: nor blame