An Epitaph On 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 be been

The stage's jewel;

And did act what now we moan,

Old men so duly,

As, sooth, the parcae thought him one,

He played so truly.

So by error, so 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.