The description, of that euer to be famed knight, Sir Iohn Burgh, Colonell Generall of his Maiesties armie vvith his last seruice at the Isle of Rees, and his vnfortunate death, then when the armie had most need of such a pilote. Written by Robert Markham, captaine of a foote company in the same regiment, and shot also in the same seruice.

THE AVTHORS EYES PVRGING WITH THE Pills of sorrow , drops here vpon the Obsequies of SIR IOHN BVRGH , His Noble Colonell , with such a heauinesse , that they doe fall in Print as followeth .

IF teares could tell the Story of my woe , How I with sorrow pine away for thee , My spungie eyes their bankes should ouer-flow , And make a very Moore , or Mire of me ; I would out weepe a thousand Nyo●yes , For I would weepe , till I wept out my eyes . My heart should drop such teares as did thy wound , And my wound should keepe consort with my heart ; In a red Sea my body should be drown'd , My gall should breake , and beare a bitter part , Such crimson Rue as I would weepe , should make Democrates himselfe , a wormewood Lake . Or if that my blew winged words could tell , How darke I mourne without a Starre of glee , My tongue the clapper , and my mouth the bell , Should ceaselesse ring thy haplesse destinie : Whilst that my Penne vnable for to speake , In Tragicke songs should grind away her beake . But woe is me , that my woes are so great , That neither Eyes , nor Tongue , nor yet my Quill , Is able for to limme , to dround , repeate The least Moulewart of such a mount of ill : O thou sad Muse , which treatest still of those , Whose threds are cut , how shall I view my woes ? Shall I fall out with Heauen that did decree Thy Autumne , ere thy Summer dayes were past , Or shall I raile vpon thy destenie , That strooke thee first , that shouldst haue suffer'd last , Or shall I whore blind Fortune , that did send Thee so vnluckily vnto thy end . Shall I complaine vpon thy owne much worth , Thy actiue care of seeing all goe well , Or shall I plaine vpon thy going foorth So openly , so neere the Cittadell ; Or shall I still disparing of reliefe , Sit choaking in the smoake of sighing griefe . Shall I chaine vp my voyce , and nothing say , O no , for then my sorrowes wanting vent , All my internall parts would burne away , No furnace flames , like loue , and discontent ; My marrow it would melt , my vaines grow dry , And like a fiery Phenix I should die . What then , shall I resolue to draw away , The floodgates of my discontent , and giue Free libertie vnto my Tongue , that so I may , Vnlade the burthen of my Heart , and liue , O no , for then with too much speaking , I Should grow starke mad , and like a Bedlame die . Thus , thus alas , deare teare bedabled Ghost , I musing stand , how I my loue should show , And for because I know not which is most , My griefe , or it , I know not what to doe ; Yet some thing noble Colonell I must , Doe to preserue , and to Imbalmethy dust . Shall I goe reape a crop of fatall Rew , Of Worme-wood , and of Colloquintida , Be-pearld all ouer with the drops of dew , Stucke here , and there , with bitter Gentia ; To shew the World that I doe follow thee , With bitternesse of Heart in Obsequie . Or shall I purchase boughes of Cyprus trees , Of Holly , Iuye , and of Misleto , Of Bayes , Rosemary , and such wood as these , With fatall Yeau , that doeth in Church-yards grow ; To make a Garland for to crowne my haire , As though the King of Funerals I were . Or shall I mourning runne into a shade ▪ Through which a day beame neuer yet could skip , Where neuer any other light was made , But by a Glow-worme , or a rotten chip ; And there Immure my selfe with blacker , blacke , Then euer midnight wore vpon her backe . What shall I doe ? thus doth my sorrow aske , Doe : cryes an Eccho from an Abby wall , Doe would I any thing , if that I knew a taske , Aske , cry'd the Eccho bounding like a ball , Griefe askt if he should write ? within a trice , Write , was repeated by the Eccho thrice . With that a penne made of a Rauens quill , Fring'd with a mourning plume on either side , That had beene mewd i th' corner of a hill , A place that Phebus neuer yet had ey'd , Was brought to me by sad Melpomene , That I might write as Eccho warned me ▪ I tooke it in my hand , and fill'd it full Of inke ( made of the spewing of a fish , ) The Cuttle is said to spew forth inke . That stewd a little peece of Blacke-sheepes wooll , Within an Acorne cup ( or Fayries dish , ) Which dish Melpomene did also bring , That I some sweete sad songs , mought write and sing . And I intended so my selfe to doe , But whether 't was the greatnesse of the paine , That with a Shot I then did vndergoe , Or greatnesse of my griefe that Burgh was slaine ; I cannot tell , but this I am sure on , I could not write for all my wit was gon . There neuer any man was handled so , With griefe as I was , for my sences fiue , Were all so stun'd they knew not what to doe , They were to me in vse but halfe a liue , The death of Burgh was such a fatall Theame , That though I waking was , I did but dreame ▪ I dreamt me thoughts of voyces that did cry , Without , and in me , by I knew not whom , In spight of my dull braines three quarters dry , To carue him out a liuing worded Tombe : To lace his Herse with lines , to build a frame , Of his owne vertues motto'd with his Name . To houer vp his fame aboue the Moone , To gild his Honour with a brighter Starre , Then Mars himselfe has when the nighted noone , Shewes euery Heauenly blazing Character ; Yet still the more I thought for to haue writ , The more I was confounded in my wit . At length I fell into a daintie sleepe , Such as be-charmes a Countrey Farmors eyes , After the merry shearing of his Sheepe , Or any other Rurall exercise : For Morpheus made of Trees , Flies , Dogges , Cats , Streames , Did neuer trouble me with foolish dreames . So did I sleepe vntill the morning light , Reneu'd the glory of the World , and then I waktagaine , with a more pregnant sp'rit , And once more flew vnto my fatall pen , Then with a little labour that I tooke , My braines were brought a bed , of this same Booke .

THy wisedome Burgh was like vnto a Sea , Wherein thy famous actions dayly swam , Like Neptun's scaly Burgers euery day , Currant wise men like lesser Riuers came , To mixe their freshnesse with thy season'd wit , Onely of purpose to grow salt by it . And as Pactalus flowes on golden sand , As Rubies , Pearles , and twinkling Diamonds , Doe starre the Firmament of Neptunes land , So did thy vertue , like farre brighter stones ; Be-pibble all the inside , outside floare Of thy hid Channell , and thy publike Shoare . Thou didst not couet Mammons yellow , white , Pearles were no more then pibbles vnto thee , A Pistoll , and a Sword was thy delight , With a braue Horse to charge an Enemie : For other worldly things they were no more , Then flowers fading on a Sunburnt floare . Thou didst not couet for to beare a show , Of gaudy cloath , saust with a Spanish sent Vpon thy backe , as Courtiers vse to doe , That lines by weauing of fine complement : But thou didst loue to weare good Souldiers gray , Fit for a Corslet , or a Winters day . And yet I must confesse the Queene of Hearts , All Englands Mistrisse hath bestowd on thee , Because thou wert endude with noble parts , A daintie Scarffe , rich in Embroiderie , Which thou didst weare sometimes vpon that gray , Yet neuer , but vpon a Battaile day . Thy Court was in the Campe , they Daunces were , Stout Marches footed to a Drummers play , 'T was not thy sport to chase a silly Hare , Stagge , Bucke , Foxe , Wild-cat , or the limping Gray : But Armies , Marquesses , Graues , Counts , Dukes , Kings , Archdutchesses , and such Heroicke things . Guns were thy hornes which sounded thy recheat , Of noble Warre ( bright honours truest chase , ) Pickes tipt with death , thy hunting poles to beate , And rouse thy game , ( sport for a Ioue-borne race , ) Thy deepe mouth'd Hounds , a catt of Cannons were , Whose brasen throates spew'd Thunder in the aire . When thou didst goe a progresse noble Sir , It was through Kingdomes , Prouinces , and States , Like to Bellonas chiefe Ambassadour , Or Iupiter himselfe , arch King of Fates : But with thy powre worthily inclinde . Thou carriest Mercy alwayes in thy minde . All the vnited Holland States can tell ▪ That thou wert infinite in thy desert , Both Spaine , and France , can also witnesse well , Against themselues how truely braue thou wert : And I beleeue the very Heathen Kings , Crowne thee with Laurell , and thy Prowesse sings . For when that thou wert ordering for fight , An Army Royall exercisd to doe , Their Countrey seruice , thou wert then a sight , For gods themselues to goe a gazing to , For so much Wisedome , Vallour , care in one , Was neuer yet , but in thy selfe alone . Thou hadst as much I dare maintaine of skill , As all the owners of those Printed names , That euer liuing Cronicles doe fill , With Martiall deeds , to their eternall fames ; For thou couldst make , of one maine body three , Front , Battaile , Reare , Exact , and suddenly . Thou couldst an Armie put into a Moone , Or to a Battell crosse , or that we call , The Diamond , or the Wedge , and do 't as soone , As Turke , or Scipio , or Hanniball ; For thou wer 't of this latter actiue time , The onely Mars , and Mirrour of our Clime . Hadst thou but lookt vpon a Sconce , or bin A Horne-worke , Rauelin , either in or out , Or else a Cities Parropet within Dry ditcht , and also Moted round about , With Bulwarkes , Curtins , Flankers , fortifi'd , False Brayes , and other obstacles beside . Thy Iudgement was so ripe , that thou couldst tell , Without the calling of a warlike Court , How many men would man that Citie well , That Counter-scarfe , Redoubt , or little Fort ; For thy brame lay within a Sconce of bone , In iudgement stronger then a Tower of stone . But leauing of the Towne , if you will see Him in the field , his men in battell ray , Resolued for to winne a Victorie , Or loose the World , in loosing of the day : Vpon these rankes of lines but fixe your looke , And you shall see him skermish in my Booke . Now he begins , March vp into the front , Of the bold Battell of yon'daring foe , March further yet , and now giue fier on 't , Till drunke with blood they tumble to and fro ; Charge noble Souldiers , and discharge againe , And let your thunder cause them drop like raine . So , there falles downe a Colonell , and there Two Ensignes , whose braue silken wings doe flap , And stooping downe they cannot canseleare , There falles a Captaine with a pewling rap , There a Liuetenant , here , and there whole sholles , Packe hence to Charon , O poore Souldiers soules . Now if the death of these Commanders cause , In the suruiuors a distracted rout , Then runne like Tigers on , without a pause , And spit them with your Pickes , and Shoote , and shout ; And you shall quickly either make them flie , Or on their knees for Noble quarter crie . You must not trifle , here 's no shrinking now , Fate with his Sisters , and the Furies to , Stare through our Powder clowdes , expecting how The Epilogue of our strife will goe ; We haue the better on 't , besides the ods , Of a good cause protected by the Gods . Giue fire then , and alwayes as you shoote , If that you thinke you mangle lesse then ten , When as you charge againe put fury too 't . A Musket prooues a very murderer then ; Then there a volley went wrapt in a clowd , Which made their Enemies a fatall shrowd . For after it as though that Fate had bin , At sport like pushpin with their Files , and rankes , They lay a thwart each other , this mans chin Lay ouer that mans chine , armes ouer flanckes , Legges cut away , soppes fit for blood and braines , Lay stuing in the broth of others paines . Which ruine they no sooner lookt vpon , But with amazement they a dreaming stood , Whether 't was best to stay , or to be gone , But ere they could resolue for their owne good ; Another storme of Leade flew round about , Which put them all into a fearefull rout . Then went he vp , and with his fatall Pikes , He ouer-ran , and ouer-threw his foes , He kills a man at euery stroake he strikes , And head-long throwes him downe vpon his nose ; At length inior●'st , for quarter they doe cry , Which he giues in his mercie instantly . To see a fight thus managed , and won , Would it not make Mars , and Olimpicke Ioue , Man-hearted Pallas , though a very Nun , With Sir Iohn Burgh , most dotingly in loue : It would , it did ; it was his excellence , That made the gods so soone to take him hence . I saw him at the landing into Rea , ( The sceane of all my griefe , ) I cannot write , So much as I mought without faining say , Of his braue , euer to be famed fight : For there I saw him strike on euery side , Hemd in with danger , till his danger di'de . There did I see him with a Spanish-pike , Free himselfe brauely from a Chaualeer , For as he came coruetting , he did strike Him through the throat , and downe he tumbled there : And many more he braind with throwing stones , Which made an Eccho in their dying grones . I saw him , though I did but dimly see , For I was shot , and lay in purblind paine , With not aboue thrice ten of quallitie , Push the maine battell backe of proud Champaine ; Nay more I saw , which erst was neuer done , Him and his thirtie make that thousand runne . I will not speake of thee in Frankendell , When thou wert there a Gouernour , for feare , Fame , by whose Charter she is bound to swell , Her cheekes with praises of thy vallour there ; Should take it ill , and infamous because , My pen would rob her trumpet of applause . Braue honest Burgh in triumph I could sing , A thousand such like stories of thine owne , But that thy fame through all the world doeth ring , And what I write would euery where be knowne ; Therefore I need not in perticular , Be the recorder of thy noble war . It shall suffice then that I onely tell , All things due vnto Martiall discipline , That could make any Martiall man excell , Did in thy Vnderstanding , Spheare , and Shine : I wish to God thy knowledge had not bin , So ouer much , Ioue pardon , if I sin . For thy much knowledge of an Engeneer , Made thee to stand in spight of vgly Death , With a firme Heart vncapable of feare , Where soone thy Soule was wingd with dying breath : For as thou wer● , ( O let me write thy fall , With my eyes inke , imbrew'd with bitter Gall. ) As thou wert standing by the Pioners , Directing them with skill to breake new ground , A single noise , not of more Muskiteers , Then one was heard , within the Fort to sound ; And then a bullet through thy belly flew , Which made thee bid the world and vs adieu . Which word adieu , did Eccho euery where , In each mans heart it did reuerberate ; Saint Martins could not onely keepe it there , But it tooke Boate , and went to Rochell straight : Thence it to England in a Flyboate flew , Where loosing a it Ecchod onely dieu . Dew , was thy due , from them that knew thee not , By more intelligence then by their eares , But vnto me thy Officer , thy Shot , Made me to stone my very breast with teares ; For Ioue he knowes I grieued more for thee , Then Fathers , or my Mothers destinie . For when first of thy Fate I vnderstood , The newes ran like to poyson through my vaines , And made a very posset of my blood , I moouelesse lay , and yet I felt such paines , That Tantalus nere felt , nor Cisaphus , My liuor ak't like to Promethius . And I doe thinke , if Ouid had but knowne , How plannet-strucke I lay , my paled lookes Had beene a theame for him to treate vpon , And to inrole me in his Statue bookes : Proclaiming that it was my wofull case , So to be changed , by a Gorgons face . Thus did the trance of my benumming griefe , A while becharme me , till as from a sound , My fainting spirits got againe reliefe , And were within their artyres all vnbound : And then I instantly considered on Thy vanish'd Soule , and whither it was gon . Which when I thought vpon , sure if I had Not wept out all the moisture of my braine , With being for thy losse so ouer sad , My ioyes would haue inforced teares againe ; For ioyes , as well as griefes , doe alwayes keepe , A paire of eyes in their extreames to weepe . I knew 't was gon to Heauen , and that it must , Be onely there , Aestrea liueth here , But vpon liking , louing humane dust , For the soules sake , Olimpus is her Spheare , And 't was her goodnesse to thy soule she staid , Till thou hadst natures debt which dying paid . I need no proofes for to auouch thy blisse , More then thy actions , for I neuer knew Thee procreator of a thing a misse , Vnlesse 't was bad for to be iust and true : I know not vnto whom more properly , Then vnto Dauid for to liken thee . For to thy Valour holinesse was wed , Thy breast was alwayes full of Sacrifice , Thy heart thy Altar were , 't was offered , Thy offerings thy Soules best fantasies ; Thy tongue was taught to Pray , thy hands to fight , But both together for the Gospels right . Thy minde was heauenly , and of heauenly Ioyes , It alwayes musd , a man should neuer see , Thee drawne away by any tempting toyes , To any kinde of mortall vanitie : For in the very Center of thy heart , A world contemning Solomon thou wert . Thy Maker neuer was blaspheam'd by thee , And he that cut thee vp , when thou wert dead , Thought in his very Soule , that thou wert free , From the sweete sinne , of a lost maidenhead : For in no particle of thee he found , The bignesse of a mite , that was vnsound . And as for that same bellie feeding vice Of Gluttonie , luld vp in lasie rest , That makes a man all brawne within a trice , Or else vnweldie , at the verie best ; Thou wast vnguiltie of , it was thy care , Not to eate much , nor yet too daintie fare . And as for that same other swinish sin Of Drunkennesse , the Idole of our dayes , In which our Gallants hourely wallow in , As though it was a wickednesse of praise : Thou didst abhorre it , as a thing accurst , For thou didst neuer drinke but vpon thirst . And here i le speake a little of the times , For by detraction I am forc't vnto 't , For there are those that throwes these horred crimes , On Souldiers backes , and thinke it fame to do 't : But vnto nothing I can liken them , But vnto Hogges , that dungs , and daubes a Iem . For he that is a Souldier truely bred , Is like a Iem composd of worth alone , He is not harsh , nor euill qualited , Neither a proud , nor an ambitious one : But he is humble , chast , and liberall , Bold in his right , and valiant with all . I must confesse within an Army are , Rogues which in it , like flesh-flie maggots breed , The skie was nere without a falling Starre , A field of Wheate without a choaking weede ; But these we make vncapeable of fame , And but vsurpers of a Souldiers name . Nay , he that is a Souldier , when he sees , A drunken man indenting for a fall , He will not suffer such inormities , He 'll make him after drinke the iuice of Gall ; He 'll bore the swearer through the tongue , and make The leagour Panders backe , and side to ake . But here at home , a man may night and day , Lye leach-like sucking at a wanton lip , Sweare , and blaspheame , to passe the time away , Drinke drunke with Tinkers for good fellowship : And if he be no Souldier , he is cry'd , In Market-townes to be well quallifi'd . But if a Souldier ▪ let him be as good , As ere Lucina brought into the World , As nature euer made of flesh and blood , With all her graces in his beautie hurld : He shall be held the mirror of disgrace , As though his very calling made him base . Oh to what poorenesse is our Kingdome growne , Out of the richnesse of an ages peace , Such basen●sse heretofore was neuer knowne , And now there is no hope that it will cease ; Vnlesse some Enemie by landing here , Makes them be traind to vertue out of feare . But whither doe I wander from my theame , Haue I forsaken the sweete thoughts of thee , Haue I for sower Milke forsaken Creame , Oh no , eternall Starre it cannot be : All this by thy example was to show , That what men thought of Souldiers was not so . Now I with wonder will returne to thee , For neuer any man had such a grace , Of virgine beautie , and of modestie , Smothly beskinning a Mauorticke face , Which had it not beene vpon flesh , and blood , Thou hadst beene Angell all , thou wert so good . Thy Stature was but low , but it was such , For the neate making vp of excellence , That in that little , there was showne as much ▪ As made rich nature poore in her expence : Thy speech was slow to shew thy Iudgement deepe , For small brookes rore , when greater Riuers sleepe . A Rocke that hath a hundred Iewels in 't , Stucke here , and there , at distance values more Then twentie Mountaines , rigg'd with fierie flint , With Bristoll-stones , or glassie Cristoll ore : So thy few words were of a greater prise , Then twentie volumes of the vulger wise . Talke that comes flying thicke and three fold our , Dyes like to chimnie sparkes , a chaffie hill , Is with a sigh puft , huft , and blowne about , When as their waightie kernils lyeth still : A tatling fellow is compared right , Vnto a barking Curre which dares not bite . But he that doeth not let his wisedome leake , Nor froth out of the bunghole of his braine , Do'th neuer but in the due season speake , And such words neuer are too light a graine : Iuno's bright husband , and her brother god , For one word speaking twentie times would nod . But with his silent nods , he 'd terrifie , He 'd make the center of the Earth to shake , He 'd comfort some , and some he 'd mortifie , He 'd raise huge stormes , and stormes he 'd quiet make : So thou with but a smile , or with a frowne , Hadst power to comfort some , and some cast downe . Then since thy calme of language merites here , To be canonized , I meane to ring , Thy rare few words , like Iewels in my eare , That euer they might there be whispering ; Causing thy silence for to be my theame , For there 's braue swimming in a quiet streame . I must confesse , when I but thinke vpon Thy words , me thinkes into my dreaming eares , Some Muse is powring of sweete Hellicon , Or else I thinke , I 'm rapt into the Spheares ; Or else I thinke , I 'm in a silent spring , Where now , and then , a Nightingale do'th sing . It is a little Parradice to me , That I can thinke vpon thy Sentences , It sets my troubled minde at libertie , Nere strangled in a thousand grieuances : It lends my sorrow this Phaebean beame , To see my happinesse , lies in a dreame . For I againe shall neuer spoken here , Such words of counsaile to preserue the State , In safetie of an Armie , being nere The brim of a precipitating fate ; As thou wast wont ( when 't was thy chance to liue , A mortall vpon earth ) , to plod , and giue . But thou wast vnto Heauen no sooner gon , But as our light had left vs , we did finde , Within our vnderstandings to be growne , A darkenesse that had almost made vs blinde : For what we thought most secretly to doe , Was quickly knowne , and soone preuented to . We neuer could determine for to fall Vpon the Cittadell , but in a trice , Our foes beleagur'd , were inform'd of all , They knew who gaue , and when we had aduice ; I feare like egges by the new laying Hen , Our plots were cry'd out by our plodding men . When he that would haue haruest of his seed , Must harrow-heale , and hide it in the furrowes , So he that would haue his designe to speed , Must lodge it deepe , as if it lay in Burrowes : For as vncouered corne is lack-dawes food , So plots discouered , neuer come to good . When thou wert gon away , there went with thee , All our good fortune , nothing euer went , After thy fall to our expectancie , But all our plots did end in discontent : Oh cruell Fate , that robbing vs of thee , Must needes rob also our prosperitie . The very morning after thou wast dead , In came the boates , to the whole Armies griefe , ( That day the Fort should haue beene rendered , Vnto the Duke , ) and brought a braue reliefe : That mornings mischiefe quickly hatch't vp more , That morning suited with the night before . A little after thinking for to gaine , That by the Sword , that Famine could not doe , We fell vpon their ontward workes a maine , And winning them , vpon their Rampires too : But they for vs were too well fortifi'd , And there a many of our gallants dy'd . And three dayes after that , ( I will repeate As little as I can of this last blow , ) Into the Isle of Ioyes we made retreate , The thought whereof , nigh brake my heart in two : For there we lost the flowers of our Land , Such as would sweate their blood , in their Command . But he that reades these losses , let him know , I doe not seeke to vnder value those , That in the honourable ranke did goe , Of Burgh ( the spring , and author of my woes ; ) For I was neuer yet Satyricall , My incke was not made blacke with bitter gall . Our Colonels , that haue yeere , after yeere , Worne out their time to reape experience , That awes the Lord , and knowes no other feare , But brauely can maintaine a difference : Are honoured in my heart , and ere t is long , I hope to sing their valours in a song . I hope I shall , out of the horse-hoofe well , Procure a loftie flying Muse that shall , In a Poeticke thundring fury tell , Vnto the world the vertues of them all : That they with blooming Laurell may be crown'd , And euery little haire of them renown'd . But in this Booke I must not sing the praise , Of any man but Burgh , whom I will striue To keepe in honour , to the end of dayes , Eternally ( if possible ) aliue : And if I thought , I should not loose my paines , I 'de spread my paper with my very braines . For here vnto the world I iustifie , My loue to him was so intire , and true , That rather then I would haue had him die , I would my selfe haue bid the world adieu : Although this penance had beene set vpon , My death to adde vnto destruction . That I should in some solitarie hole , Where fatall Scritch-owles , their shrill omen sings , Without the comfort of a liuing Soule , Saue squeaking Rat-bats , with their leather wings ; Immure my selfe , and with a dismall cry , Make vp the consort , and so pewling die . There was not any death in my conceite , That was so gastly to haue frighted me , Or made my resolution retreate , From sauing , keeping , or preseruing thee : For thou wert such another noble man , I would haue sau'd thee like a Pellican . But whither doe I in affection Runne , a wild pilgrimage ? let me but eye , Thy noble fall with more descretion , And what I make a mournefull Tragedie : I shall to my great ioy perceiue to be , Onely a blessing hastened vnto thee . For if thy fatall thread had beene so long , That thou hadst had a life for to haue knowne , Of many noble friends , how great a throng , Was comming off , cut off , and ouerthrowne : Thy God that tooke thee hence did well fore-see , Thy life had then beene worse then death to thee . Then since it was , in loue , thy Fathers will , To snatch thee to him into Heauen ; I dare No longer be so pittifully ill , To moane thy absence here , and presence there : But I will ioy , thou wert so good a sonne , That for thy good , thy Fathers will was done . I le ioy thou hadst so gracious a King , At home so brauely for to bury thee , That farre from home , the fame thereof did ring , To be a master-piece of Obsequie : I le ioy thou hadst so good a Generall , That sent thee home for so braue Funerall . And as I haue pursu'd thee to thy graue With sorrow , in the shaddow of thy Hearse : So now let ioy , the roome of sorrow haue , And let me with a smile , conclude my verse ; Because I know the last best part of thee , Is made in Heauen , an endlesse commedie . Yet though thy blis hath made me glad , Thy Epitaph , must needes be sad , Because the teares that dropt vpon Thy graue , were turned into stone : In which thy Body was inclos'd , Of which alone thy Tombes compos'd .