Wit A Sporting In a pleasant Grove Of New Fancies | ||
68
To Robbin Redbrest.
When I'me led out for dead, let thy last kindness beWith leaves and moss-work for to cover me:
And while the wood-nimphs my cold corps inter,
Sing thou my Dirge sweet warbling Chorister,
For Epitaph in foliage next write this,
Here, here the tomb of William Redley is.
Wit A Sporting In a pleasant Grove Of New Fancies | ||