TO THE MEMORY OF THOMAS HENEAGE ESQUIRE.  
An Expostulation with DEATH.  

IS there no remedy, must wise men die  
As well as fools? hath perfect Piety  
No privilege beyond Impiety?  
Impartial Death, when will thy poisoned dart  
Learn to distinguish twixt the Nobler part  
Of living men, and those whose vulgar breath  
Were far a fitter sacrifice for death?  
Why are the Stars immortal more than they?  
They shine by night, these glister night and day.  
Stars borrow all their light, but wisemen lend:  
In each of them the world enjoys a friend.  
How is it then that senseless creatures be  
Exempted from this general tyranny,  
And fixed within their Orbs, survive to light  
So many Worthies to eternal night?  
Is it because Stars are above the sphere,  
Wherein thou art allowed to domineer?  
Or is thy arm too short, or wilt thou say  
The night revives them that depart by day;  
That every Even beholds a dying Sun,  
And every Morn a Resurrection?  
Oh happy world, if wise and virtuous men,  
Since they must die, might die to live again  
After some hours like Sol, or with the Moon  
After some days; if that be thought too soon,  
That like the fragrant flowers they might appear  
To beautify the Earth but once a year;  
Then happily we might ourselves enure  
His death with some more patience to endure,  
Whose grace and wisdom did trascend by far  
The light and influence of the Morning Star.  
But this vain wish the Great and only Wise  
Controller of the universe denies,  
And 'twill become us better, reverently  
To mourn in silence, rather than reply.   

The Epitaph.  

HEre lies interred under this fat all Stone  
A world of men epitomised in one.     

London, printed for Edward Blackmore, 1642.