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For, Ile Stabbe ye. By S. R. [i.e. Samuel Rowlands]

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Deathes Epitaph, vpon euery mans Graue.

Behold the state of all the Sonne of Men,
I hat liue to die, and die they know not when:
How Flowerlike they wither and decay;
How soone Deaths Sith doth mow them downe like Hay.
How vaine a thing of all thinges els, is Man,
How short his life is measur'd out a span:
How he is borne with teares, brought vp in paine,
And how with sighes, he leaues the world againe.