157 EPITAPH ON ELIZABETH L. H.
WOULDS'T thou hear what man can say
In a little? Reader, stay.
Underneath this stone doth lie
As much beauty as could die;
Which in life did harbour give
To more virtue than doth live.
If at all she had a fault
Leave it buried in this vault.
One name was Elizabeth,
The other, let it sleep with death,
Fitter, where it died, to tell,
Than that it lived at all. Farewell.