DRAW neer 
You Lovers that complain 
Of Fortune or Disdain, 
And to my Ashes lend a tear; 
Melt the hard marble with your grones,
And soften the relentlesse Stones, 
Whose cold imbraces the sad Subject hide 
Of all Loves cruelties, and Beauties Pride. 
 
No Verse 
No Epicedium bring, 
Nor peaceful Requiem sing, 
To charm the terrours of my Herse; 
No prophane Numbers must flow neer 
The sacred silence that dwells here; 
Vast Griefs are dumb, softly, oh softly mourn
Lest you disturb the Peace attends my Urn. 
 
Yet strew 
Upon my dismall Grave, 
Such offerings as you have, 
Forsaken Cypresse and sad Ewe;
For kinder Flowers can take no Birth 
Or growth from such unhappy Earth. 
Weep only o're my Dust, and say, Here lies 
To Love and Fate an equal Sacrifice.