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 | The Workes of Benjamin Jonson |  |
XL. On Margaret Ratcliffe.
Marble, weepe, for thou do'st cover
A dead beautie under-neath thee,
Rich as nature could bequeath thee;
Grant then, no rude hand remove her.
All the gazers on the skies
Read not in faire heavens storie,
Expresser truth, or truer glorie,
Than they might in her bright eyes.
A dead beautie under-neath thee,
Rich as nature could bequeath thee;
Grant then, no rude hand remove her.
All the gazers on the skies
Read not in faire heavens storie,
Expresser truth, or truer glorie,
Than they might in her bright eyes.
Rare as wonder was her wit;
And like Nectar ever flowing:
Till time, strong by her bestowing,
Conquer'd hath both life and it.
Life whose griefe was out of fashion;
In these times few so have ru'd
Fate in a brother. To conclude,
For wit, feature, and true passion,
Earth, thou hast not such another.
And like Nectar ever flowing:
Till time, strong by her bestowing,
Conquer'd hath both life and it.
Life whose griefe was out of fashion;
In these times few so have ru'd
Fate in a brother. To conclude,
For wit, feature, and true passion,
Earth, thou hast not such another.
| The Workes of Benjamin Jonson | |