 | Philosophicall fancies |  |
A Request to my Friends.
When I am dead, and buried lye
Within a Grave; if Friends passe by,
Let them not turn away their sight,
Because they would forget me quite:
But on my Grave a teare let fall,
And me unto remembrance call.
Then may my Ashes rise, that Teare to meet,
Receive it in my urne like Balsome sweet.
Within a Grave; if Friends passe by,
Let them not turn away their sight,
Because they would forget me quite:
But on my Grave a teare let fall,
And me unto remembrance call.
Then may my Ashes rise, that Teare to meet,
Receive it in my urne like Balsome sweet.
O you that are my dearest Friends, do not,
When I am dead, lye in the Grave forgot,
But let me in your Mind, as one Thought be;
So shall I live still in your Memory.
If you had dyed, my Heart still should have been
A Room to keep, and hang your Picture in.
My Thoughts should Copies pencill every day,
Teares be the Oyle, for Colours on to lay.
My Lips shall mixe thy severall colour'd praise,
By words compounded, various severall waies.
Innocent white, and azure truth agree,
With modest red, Purple in grain to bee.
And many more, which Rhetorick still can place,
Shadowes of griefe, to give a lively grace.
When I am dead, lye in the Grave forgot,
But let me in your Mind, as one Thought be;
So shall I live still in your Memory.
If you had dyed, my Heart still should have been
A Room to keep, and hang your Picture in.
Teares be the Oyle, for Colours on to lay.
My Lips shall mixe thy severall colour'd praise,
By words compounded, various severall waies.
Innocent white, and azure truth agree,
With modest red, Purple in grain to bee.
And many more, which Rhetorick still can place,
Shadowes of griefe, to give a lively grace.
| Philosophicall fancies | |