| Citation |
NHG-P.763.024
9 Sep 1763:43 (362)
EPITAPH, WRITTEN BY COWLEY FOR HIMSELF.
From life's superfluous cares enlarg'd,
His debt of human toil discharg'd,
Here Cowley lies! beneath this shed,
To every worldly int'rest dead;
With decent poverty content,
His house of ease not idly spent;
To fortune's goods a foe protest,
And hating wealth by all carest.
'Tis true he's dead; for oh! how small,
a spot of earth is now his all;
Oh! wish that earth may lightly lay,
And ev'ry care be far away;
Bring flowers; the short liv'd roses bring,
To life deceas'd, fit offering;
And sweets around the poet strow,
Whilst yet for life his ashes glow.
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