In your dear loss, my much afflicted sense
10Discerns this truth by sad experience,
Who never look'd my Verses should survive,
As wet records, That you are not alive;
And less desir'd to make that promise due,
Which pass'd from me in jest, when urg'd by you.
How close and slily doth our frailty work!
How undiscover'd in the body lurk!
That those who this day did salute you well,
Before the next were frighted by your knell.