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Epitaph, on I. Walker.
Envy'd, and lov'd, here lies the Prince of mirth!
Who laugh'd, at the grave bus'nesse of the Earth.
Look'd on ambitious States-men with such Eyes,
As might discerne them guilty, could not wise.
That did the noyse of Warr, and Battailes heare,
As mov'd to smiling pitty, not to feare:
Thought fighting Princes at their dying sad;
Beleev'd, both Victors, and the Conquer'd mad:
Might have beene rich, as oft as he would please,
But wayes to Wealth, are not the wayes to Ease.
The wit, and courage of his talke, now rests,
In their impatient keeping that steale Jeasts;
His Jeasts, who e're shall Father, and repeat
Small mem'ry needs, but let's estate be great,
Who laugh'd, at the grave bus'nesse of the Earth.
Look'd on ambitious States-men with such Eyes,
As might discerne them guilty, could not wise.
That did the noyse of Warr, and Battailes heare,
As mov'd to smiling pitty, not to feare:
Thought fighting Princes at their dying sad;
Beleev'd, both Victors, and the Conquer'd mad:
Might have beene rich, as oft as he would please,
But wayes to Wealth, are not the wayes to Ease.
The wit, and courage of his talke, now rests,
In their impatient keeping that steale Jeasts;
His Jeasts, who e're shall Father, and repeat
Small mem'ry needs, but let's estate be great,
Danger
