_Nor._ An Epi--and Epi--taff. I think 'tis, I 'tis taff, an Epitaff. Upon the most excell, excell--lent--and. _Mir._ Thou canst not read. _Nor._ I have spoyl'd mine eyes with gunpowder. _Mir._ An _Epitaph_ upon the most virtuous, and excellent Lady The honor of Chastity, _Oriana_. _Nor._ The grand masters sister: how a devil came she here? When slipt she out o'th'way, the stone's but half upon her. _Mir._ 'Tis a sodain change: certain the mischief _Mountferrat_ offer'd to her broak her heart-strings. _Nor._ Would he were here, I would be the clerk my self, And by this little light, I would bury him alive here: Here's no lamenting now. _Ori._ Oh, oh. _Nor._ There 'tis. _Mir._ Sure from the monument, the very stone groanes for her. Oh, dear Lady: blessing of women, virtue of thy sex; How art thou set for ever, how stol'n from us. Babling, and prating now converse with women. _Nor._ Sir, it rises, it looks up. [_She rises up._ _Mir._ Heaven bless us. _Nor._ It is in womans cloathes, it rises higher. _Mir._ It looks about, and wonders, sure she lives Sir. 'Tis she, 'tis _Oriana_, 'tis that Lady. _Nor._ Shall I go to her? _Ori._ Where am I! _Mir._ Stand still. _Ori._ What place is this? _Nor._ She is as live as I am. _Ori._ What smell of earth, and rotten bones, what dark place? Lord, whither am I carried? _Nor._ How she stares, And sets her eyes upon him. _Mir._ How is't dear Lady? Do you know me, how she shakes! _Ori._ You are a man. _Mir._ A man that honors you. _Ori._ A cruel man, Ye are all cruel: are you in your grave too? For there's no trusting cruel man, above ground. _Nor._ Byr'Lady that goes hard. _Mir._ To do you service And to restore ye to the joys you were in. _Ori._ I was in joyes indeed, and hope-- _Mir._ She sinks again Again she's gone; she's gone: gone as a shadow, She sinks for ever, friend. _Nor._ She is cold now, She is certainly departed, I must cry too. _Mir._ The blessed angels guide thee: put the stone too, Beauty thou art gone to dust, goodness to ashes. _Nor._ Pray take it well: we must all have our hours Sir. _Mir._ I, thus we are; and all our painted glory, A buble that a boy blows in to th' ayr, And there it breaks. _Nor._ I am glad ye sav'd her honor yet. _Mir._ Would I had sav'd her life now too: oh heaven For such a blessing, such a timely blessing O friend, what dear content 'twould be, what story To keep my name from worms! _Ori._ Oh, oh. _Nor._ She lives again. 'Twas but a trance. _Mir._ Pray ye call my man in presently Help with the stone first, oh she stirs again. Oh call my man away. _Nor._ I fly, I fly Sir. _Mir._ Upon my knees O heaven, O heaven I thank thee.