Or close unto his name annext, The faire glosse of a fairer text. In briefe, if any one were free Hee was that one, and onely hee. But he, alas! even hee is dead, 55 And our hope's faire harvest spread In the dust. Pitty, now spend All the teares that Griefe can lend. Sad Mortality may hide In his ashes all her pride; 60 With this inscription o're his head, 'All hope of never dying here is dead.' NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS The SANCROFT MS. furnishes these variations: line 1, 'was:' line 26, 't' have:' line 34, 'quotes' for 'notes:' l. 42, 'lease' for 'leafe;' adopted: line 49 omits rightly the first 'have' and spells 'bin;' the former adopted: line 50, 'wrote:' line 62, 'is' for 'lyes;' adopted: line 23, 'steely' = hard as steel, or, as we say, iron-hearted. The SANCROFT MS. writes the two poems as one. G. HIS EPITAPH.[72] Passenger, who e're thou art 1 Stay a while, and let thy heart Take acquaintance of this stone, Before thou passest further on. This stone will tell thee, that beneath, 5 Is entomb'd the crime of Death; The ripe endowments of whose mind Left his yeares so much behind, That numbring of his vertues' praise, Death lost the reckoning of his dayes; 10 And believing what they told, Imagin'd him exceeding old. In him Perfection did set forth The strength of her united worth. Him his wisdome's pregnant growth 15 Made so reverend, even in youth, That in the center of his brest (Sweet as is the phoenix' nest) Every reconcilèd Grace Had their generall meeting-place. 20 In him Goodnesse joy'd to see Learning learne Humility. The splendor of his birth and blood Was but the glosse of his owne good. The flourish of his sober youth 25 Was the pride of naked truth. In composure of his face, Liv'd a faire, but manly grace. His mouth was Rhetorick's best mold, His tongue the touchstone of her gold. 30 What word so e're his breath kept warme, Was no word now but a charme: For all persuasive Graces thence Suck't their sweetest influence. His vertue that within had root, 35 Could not chuse but shine without. And th' heart-bred lustre of his worth, At each corner peeping forth, Pointed him out in all his wayes, Circled round in his owne rayes: 40 That to his sweetnesse, all men's eyes Were vow'd Love's flaming sacrifice. Him while fresh and fragrant Time Cherisht in his golden prime; E're Hebe's hand had overlaid 45 His smooth cheekes with a downy shade; The rush of Death's unruly wave,