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AN EPITAPH.
  
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30

AN EPITAPH.

Here lies a blessed paire, alive one bed,
Containd them both, and one grave being dead.
Here lies interr'd the twins of fate,
One was the Atlas of the State,
His head the throne of Art,
Of Pietie, his heart.
Minos in furre,
A friend of right
Mavors in war,
A devill in fight.
I'th others lovely face
Fresh beauty dwelt, and grace,
An Angell cloath'd in flesh, and sent
into a claie tenement
She was,—Reader admire this, and wish
Thy selfe a worme to tast so choyce a dish.