And as it is observ'd, when Princes die,
50In honour of that sad solemnity,
The now unoffic'd servants crack their staves,
And throw them down into their masters' graves:
So this last office of my broken verse
I solemnly resign upon your hearse;
And my brain's moisture, all that is unspent,
Shall melt to nothing at the monument.
Thus in moist weather, when the marble weeps,
You'll think it only his tears reck'ning keeps,