Each then be his owne mourner, Wee'le to thee
Write hymnes, upon the world an Elegie.
To Castara.
Why should we feare to melt away in death;
May we but dye together. When beneath
In a coole vault we sleepe, the world will prove
Religious, and call it the shrine of Love.
There, when oth' wedding eve some beautious maid,
Suspitious of the faith of man, hath paid