And though the ceremonious rites are past
Since thy fair body into earth was cast,
Though all thy hatchments into rags are torn,
Thy funeral robes and ornaments outworn;
We still thy mourners, without show or art,
With solemn blacks hung round about our heart,
Thus constantly the obsequies renew,
10Which to thy precious memory are due.
Yet think not that we rudely would invade
The dark recess of thine untroubled shade,