Epitaph For Maria Wentworth

And here the precious dust is laid;

Whose purely-tempe r'd clay was made So fine that it the guest betray'd.

Else the soul grew so fast within,

It broke the outward shell of sin,

And so was hatch'd a cherubin.

In height, it soar'd to God above;

In depth, it did to knowledge move,

And spread in breadth to general love.

Before, a pious duty shin'd To parents, courtesy behind;

On either side an equal mind.

Good to the poor, to kindred dear,

To servants kind, to friendship clear,

To nothing but herself severe.

So, though a virgin, yet a bride To ev'ry grace, she justified A chaste polygamy, and died.

Learn from hence, reader, what small trust We owe this world, where virtue must,

Frail as our flesh, crumble to dust.