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John Donne - Elegy:The End of Funeral Elegies
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MADAM—
That I might make your cabinet my tomb, 
    And for my fame, which I love next my soul, 
Next to my soul provide the happiest room, 
    Admit to that place this last funeral scroll. 
        Others by wills give legacies, but I 
        Dying, of you do beg a legacy. 

My fortune and my will this custom break, 
When we are senseless grown to make stones speak, 
Though no stone tell thee what I was, yet thou 
In my grave`s inside seest what thou art now, 
Yet thou `rt not yet so good ;  till death us lay 
To ripe and mellow there, we`re stubborn clay. 
Parents make us earth, and souls dignify 
Us to be glass ;  here to grow gold we lie. 
Whilst in our souls sin bred and pamper`d is, 
Our souls become worm-eaten carcases.
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