Draw near You Lovers that complain Of Fortune or Disdain, And to my Ashes lend a tear; Melt the hard marble with your grones, And soften the relentlesse Stones, Whose cold imbraces the sad Subject hide Of all Loves cruelties, and Beauties Pride. No Verse No Epicedium bring, Nor peaceful Requiem sing, To charm the terrours of my Herse; No prophane Numbers must flow neer The sacred silence that dwells here; Vast Griefs are dumb, softly, oh softly mourn Lest you disturb the Peace attends my Urn. Yet strew Upon my dismall Grave, Such offerings as you have, Forsaken Cypresse and sad Ewe; For kinder Flowers can take no Birth Or growth from such unhappy Earth. Weep only o're my Dust, and say, Here lies To Love and Fate an equal Sacrifice. |