AN EPITAPH Upon His Late MAJESTY, King CHARLES the II.  
THE Statue, which the Rhodians say,  
The Sun Descends on every Day;  
Is also here in ENGLAND set  
Within this Royal Cabinet;  
To whose Eternal Hallowed-Vrn,  
Pilgrims from Far, shall come and Mourn:  
Their Snowy-Heads shall Prostrate here,  
And Drop a Pearly-Aged Tear.  
TIME, that does make of All his Game,  
And over all our Hours does Reign;  
With this Great Treasure now Possessed,  
May set Him down in Peace, and Rest;  
While We (through Sorrows-Vale) go on,  
As CAESAR past Great-Rubicon.  

Thy Actions cannot be Enrolled,  
Nor can upon the Brass be told,  
Nor can be set in Amell'd-Gold,   
Like Wonders that the Poets tell  
Of HERO'S that in Marble Dwell;  
Which like to Rocks that Tempests Scorn,  
And oft are Angry with the Storm;  
Must Bow, and yield at TIMES Great Call,  
And into Flinty-pieces fall:  
While thy Blessed Name shall still Outlive  
(All the Decay that Age can give)  
More sweet than those Hydaspes Lends,  
And the Famed- Phoenix ere she Ends:  
Thy Spirit did (like Elijah) Fall  
To Bless us at thy FUNERAL.  
FINIS.   

Printed for P. Brooksby, at the Golden-Ball, in Pie-corner: 1685.