Slow through the hall of Rufus was he borne;
Approach and read (if thou can’st read) the lay
Engrav’d on parchment from an old deed torn.
The Epitaph.
Here rests his head upon a page of Coke,
A youth, to foplings and to flirts unknown;
Fair science frown’d not on the words he spoke,
And metaphysics mark’d him for their own.
Sound was his judgment and his soul sincere,
Fortune a recompense did largely send;