University of Virginia Library

To the precious Memory of Master William Fenner.

How brittle's wretched man? no sooner death
Seales up his eyes, and stops his panting breath,
But th'hungry grave devours him, and he must
Returne againe unto his mother dust;
So fraile a thing he is, so doth he passe,
That nothing can Remaine but that he was.
But thou (Triumphant Soule) art elevate
By thy vast merits 'bove the common fate;
Those sacred pearles thy selfe dig'd from among
Thy fiery thoughts, and polish't with thy tongue,
By thee a second life, that times to come
May say that Rochford had a Chrysostome,
Whose Life told out in Minutes, seem'd to be
Nothing but one continued Homilie,
So even was thy Conscience, such a flame
Rais'd thy affections, that thou soone became
Too good for Earth; so waking was thy brest,
That Night could never grant a truce to Rest,
But now thou Rests for ever drunke with joyes
That never spend, yet ever new arise.
Yet let thy Name still breath new odors, and
'Mong those Angelik Spirits numbred stand,
While we below stand gazing up and see
Th'hast chang'd thy Room, but not thy Company.