'Peace, good Reader, doe not weep; Peace, the louers are asleep. They, sweet turtles, folded ly In the last knott that Loue could ty. And though they ly as they were dead, Their pillow stone, their sheetes of lead (Pillow hard, and sheetes not warm), Loue made the bed; they'l take no harm: Let them sleep; let them sleep on, Till this stormy night be gone, And the æternall morrow dawn; Then ...' (vol. i. pp. 230-1.) The hush, the tranquil stillness of a church-aisle, within which 'sleep' old recumbent figures, comes over one in reading these most pathetically beautiful words. Of the whole poem, Dodd in his 'Epigrammatists' (as onward) remarks, 'after reading this Epitaph, all others on the same subject must suffer by comparison. Yet there is much to be admired in the following by Bishop Hall, on Sir Edward and Lady Lewkenor. It is translated from the Latin by the Bishop's descendant and editor, the Rev. Peter Hall (Bp. Hall's Works, 1837-9, xii. 331): 'In bonds of love united, man and wife, Long, yet too short, they spent a happy life; United still, too soon, however late, Both man and wife receiv'd the stroke of fate: And now in glory clad, enraptur'd pair, The same bright cup, the same sweet draught they share. Thus, first and last, a married couple see, In life, in death, in immortality.' There is much beauty also in an anonymous epitaph in the 'Festoon' 143, 'On a Man and his Wife:' 'Here sleep, whom neither life nor love, Nor friendship's strictest tie, Could in such close embrace as thou, Their faithful grave, ally; Preserve them, each dissolv'd in each, For bands of love divine, For union only more complete, Thou faithful grave, than thine.' (p. 253.)