[12 there, _1635_, _1669:_ thee, _1639-54_] _Omnibus._ My Fortune and my choice this custome break, When we are speechlesse grown, to make stones speak, Though no stone tell thee what I was, yet thou In my graves inside seest what thou art now: Yet thou'art not yet so good, till death us lay 5 To ripe and mellow here, we are stubborne Clay. Parents make us earth, and soules dignifie Vs to be glasse; here to grow gold we lie. Whilst in our soules sinne bred and pamper'd is, Our soules become wormeaten carkases; 10 So we our selves miraculously destroy. Here bodies with lesse miracle enjoy Such priviledges, enabled here to scale Heaven, when the Trumpets ayre shall them exhale. Heare this, and mend thy selfe, and thou mendst me, 15 By making me being dead, doe good to thee, And thinke me well compos'd, that I could now A last-sicke houre to syllables allow. [Omnibus. _D_, _H49:_ To all. _H40_, _RP31:_ Another on the same. (_i.e. M^{rs} Boulstred_) _P:_ On himselfe. _1635-69:_ _no title_, _B_, _S96:_ _in MSS. this complete epitaph follows the epistle_ (_p._ 291); _but in B they are separated by various poems and in P the epistle is not given_] [3 tell] tel _1635_] [4 seest] see _D_, _H49:_ _compare incomplete version_.] [5 Yet _1635-69:_ Nay _S96_ thou'art _Ed:_ thou art _1635-69_] [8 lie. _Ed:_ lie; _1635-69_] [14 them] then _1669_] [16 to thee, _B_, _D_, _H40_, _H49_, _O'F_, _S96:_ for thee, _1635-69_] INFINITATI SACRUM, 16. _Augusti_ 1601. METEMPSYCHOSIS. _Poêma Satyricon._ * * * * * EPISTLE.