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Poem	When men for injuryes unsatisfy'd, For hopes cutt off, for debts not fully payd, For legacies in vain expected, mourne Over theyr owne respects within the urne, Races of tears all striveing first to fall As frequent are as eye and funerall; Then high swolne sighes drawne in and sent out strong Seeme to call back the soule or goe along. Goodness is seldome such a theam of woe Unless to her owne tribe some one or two; But here's a man, (alas a shell of man!) Whose innocence, more white than silver swan, Now finds a streame of teares; such perfect greif That in the traine of mourners hee is cheife Who lives the greatest gainer; and would faine Bee now prefer'd unto his loss againe. The webb of nerves with subtill branches spred Over the little world, are in theyr head Scarce so united as in him were knitt All his dependants: Hee that strives to sitt So lov'd of all must bee a man as square As vertues selfe; which those that fly and feare Can never hate. How seldome have we seene Such store of flesh joyn'd with so little sin? His body was not greater than his soule, Whose limbs were vertues able to controule All grudg of sloth: and as the body's weight Hal'd to the centre; so the soule as light Heav'd upward to her goale. This civill jarre Could not hold out, but made them part as farre As earth and heaven: from whence the one shall come To make her mate more fresh, less cumbersome. After so sound a sleepe, so sweet a rest, And both shall then appeare so trimly drest As freinds that goe to meet: the body shall Then seeme a soule, the soule Angellicall: A beautious smile shall passe from that to this, The joyning soule shall then the body kisse With its owne lipps: so great shall be the store Of joy and love that now thei'l part no more; Such hope hath dust! besides which happines Death hath not made his earthly share the lesse, Or quite bereft him of his honors here, But added more; for liveing hee did steere The fellowes only; but since hee is dead Hee's made a president unto theyr head.
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