The camp, thy sorrow; where thy body died.
Thy friends, thy want; the world, thy virtue's fame.
Nations, thy wit; our minds lay up thy love.
Letters, thy learning; thy loss, years long to come.
In worthy hearts, sorrow hath made thy tomb;
Thy soul and sprite enrich the heavens above.
Thy liberal heart embalmed in grateful tears,
Young sighs, sweet sighs, sage sighs bewail thy fall.
Envy, her sting; and Spite, hath left her gall.