 | Trivial poems |  |
Exprimetur.
Who without horrour, can that house behold
(Though ne're soe fayre) which is with tombe stones made;
Whose walls, fraught with inscriptions writt of old,
Say still, Here underneath some-body's layde.
Though such translated church-yards shine with gold,
Yett they the builder's sacriledge up-brayde;
And the wrong'd ghosts, there haunting uncontroul'd,
Follow each one his monumentall shade.
(Though ne're soe fayre) which is with tombe stones made;
Whose walls, fraught with inscriptions writt of old,
Say still, Here underneath some-body's layde.
Though such translated church-yards shine with gold,
Yett they the builder's sacriledge up-brayde;
And the wrong'd ghosts, there haunting uncontroul'd,
Follow each one his monumentall shade.
But they that by the poore-man's downefall rise,
Haue sadder epitaphes caru'd on their chests:
As, Here the widow, Here the orphan lyes.
Who sees their wealth, their avarice detests;
Whilst th'iniur'd for revenge urge heauen with cryes;
And, through itt's gvilt, th'oppressour's mind ne'er rests.
Haue sadder epitaphes caru'd on their chests:
As, Here the widow, Here the orphan lyes.
Who sees their wealth, their avarice detests;
Whilst th'iniur'd for revenge urge heauen with cryes;
And, through itt's gvilt, th'oppressour's mind ne'er rests.
| Trivial poems | |