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H. His Deuises

for his owne exercise, and his Friends pleasure [by Thomas Howell]
 
 

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An Epitaph.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

An Epitaph.

What hydes this hearse but quiet silente reste,
The surest ende of his vncertayne time:
Whome neyther sworde, nor fyre, nor age opprest,
But to his Ghost gaue way, in haste to clime
Aloft, loe here the iustice of such fatall breath,
To haue a God the author of his death?
Fayth and good nature, honor death and lyfe,
The Noble harte procureth fauour moste,
These markes, these flowres of his age are ryfe,
Wherein both soule and shrine may iustly boste.
Where his desyres lodge, the Gods can tell,
Here lyeth the corse that liued and died so well.