An Expostulation with DEATH.

IS there no remedy, must wise men dy
As well as fooles? hath perfect Piety
No priviledge beyond Impiety?
Impartiall Death, when will thy poysoned dart
Learne to distinguish 'twixt the Nobler part
Of living men, and those whose vulgar breath
Were farre a fitter sacrifice for death?
Why are the Stars immortall more than they?
They shine by night, these glister night and day.
Starres borrow all their light, but wisemen lend:
In each of them the world enjoyes a friend.
How is it then that senslesse creatures be
Exempted from this generall tyranny,
And fixt within their Orbs, survive to light
So many Worthies to eternall night?
Is it because Stars are above the Spheere,
Wherein thou art allow'd to domineere?
Or is thy arme too short, or wilt thou say
The night revives them that depart by day;
That every Even beholds a dying Sun,
And every Morn a Resurrection?
Oh happy world, if wise and vertuous men,
Since they must dy, might dy to live agen
After some houres like Sol, or with the Moon
After some dayes; if that be thought too soon,
That like the fragrant flowers they might appear
To beautifie the Earth but once a yeare;
Then happily we might our selves inure
His death with some more patience to endure,
Whose grace and wisedome did trascend by farre
The light and influence of the Morning Star.
But this vaine wish the Great and only Wise
Controller of the Vniverse denies,
And 'twill become us better, reverently
To mourne in silence, rather than reply.

The Epitaph.

HEre lies interr'd under this fat all Stone
A world of men epitomis'd in one.

London, printed for Edward Blackmore, 1642.

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