| Farewell, thou child of my right hand, and joy ; | |
| My sin was too much hope of thee, lov'd boy. | |
| Seven years thou wert lent to me, and I thee pay, | |
| Exacted by thy fate, on the just day. | |
| Oh, could I lose all father now ! For why | 5 |
| Will man lament the state he should envy? | |
| To have so soon 'scaped world's and flesh's rage, | |
| And if no other misery, yet age ! | |
| Rest in soft peace, and, asked, say, Here doth lie | |
| Ben Jonson his best piece of poetry. | 10 |
| For whose sake henceforth all his vows be such | |
| As what he loves may never like too much. | |