Poesias
Poesias Grace in all simplicity,
Here enclosed in cinders lie.
Death is now the phoenix’ nest,
And the turtle’s loyal breast
To eternity doth rest.
Leaving no posterity
’Twas not their infirmity,
It was married chastity.
Truth may seem but cannot be,
Beauty brag, but ’tis not she.
Truth and beauty buried be.
To this urn let those repair
That are either true or fair.
For these dead birds sigh a prayer.
