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Epitaph for Maria Wentworth

 And here the precious dust is laid; 
Whose purely-temper'd clay was made 
So fine that it the guest betray'd.
Else the soul grew so fast within, It broke the outward shell of sin, And so was hatch'd a cherubin.
In height, it soar'd to God above; In depth, it did to knowledge move, And spread in breadth to general love.
Before, a pious duty shin'd To parents, courtesy behind; On either side an equal mind.
Good to the poor, to kindred dear, To servants kind, to friendship clear, To nothing but herself severe.
So, though a virgin, yet a bride To ev'ry grace, she justified A chaste polygamy, and died.
Learn from hence, reader, what small trust We owe this world, where virtue must, Frail as our flesh, crumble to dust.

by Thomas Carew
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