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.

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