Poems on Several Occasions | ||
296
An EPITAPH.
[Here lye I, once a witty Fair]
I
Here lye I, once a witty Fair,Ill loving and ill lov'd;
Whose heedless Beauty was my Snare,
Whose Wit my Folly prov'd.
II
Reader, should any curious stayTo ask my luckless Name,
Tell them, the Grave that hides my Clay
Conceals me from my Shame.
III
Tell them, I mourn'd for Guilt of Sin,More than for Pleasure spent:
Tell them, whate'er my Morn had been,
My Noon was Penitent.
Poems on Several Occasions | ||