EPITAPH ON SALATHIEL PAVY, A CHILD OF QUEEN ELIZABETH’S CHAPEL.
WEEP with me all you that read This little story; And know for whom a tear you shed, Death’s self is sorry. ’Twas a child that so did thrive In grace and feature, As heaven and nature seemed to strive Which owned the creature. Years he numbered scarce thirteen When fates turned cruel; Yet three filled zodiacs had he been The stage’s jewel; And did act, what now we moan, Old men so duly; As, sooth, the Parcæ thought him one He played so truly. So, by error to his fate They all consented; But viewing him since, alas, too late! They have repented; And have sought to give new birth, In baths to steep him; But, being so much too good for earth, Heaven vows to keep him.
WOULDST 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.
UNDERNEATH this sable hearse Lies the subject of all verse, Sidney’s sister, Pembroke’s mother: Death! ere thou hast slain another, Learned, and fair, and good as she, Time shall throw a dart at thee.
TO THE MEMORY OF MY BELOVED MASTER WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE, AND WHAT HE HATH LEFT US.