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Richard Lovelace - On The Death Of Mrs. Elizabeth Filmer. An Elegiacall Epitaph
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  You that shall live awhile, before
Old time tyrs, and is no more:
When that this ambitious stone
Stoopes low as what it tramples on:
Know that in that age, when sinne
Gave the world law, and governd Queene,
A virgin liv`d, that still put on
White thoughts, though out of fashion:
That trac`t the stars, `spite of report,
And durst be good, though chidden for`t:
Of such a soule that infant Heav`n
Repented what it thus had giv`n:
For finding equall happy man,
Th` impatient pow`rs snatch it agen.
Thus, chaste as th` ayre whither shee`s fled,
She, making her celestiall bed
In her warme alablaster, lay
As cold is in this house of clay:
Nor were the rooms unfit to feast
Or circumscribe this angel-guest;
The radiant gemme was brightly set
In as divine a carkanet;
Of which the clearer was not knowne,
Her minde or her complexion.
Such an everlasting grace,
Such a beatifick face,
Incloysters here this narrow floore,
That possest all hearts before.

  Blest and bewayl`d in death and birth!
The smiles and teares of heav`n and earth!
Virgins at each step are afeard,
Filmer is shot by which they steer`d,
Their star extinct, their beauty dead,
That the yong world to honour led;
But see! the rapid spheres stand still,
And tune themselves unto her will.

  Thus, although this marble must,
As all things, crumble into dust,
And though you finde this faire-built tombe
Ashes, as what lyes in its wombe:
Yet her saint-like name shall shine
A living glory to this shrine,
And her eternall fame be read,
When all but VERY VERTUE`S DEAD.
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