Soul of the age, The applause, delight, the wonder of our stage, My Shakespeare, rise! I will not lodge thee by Chaucer or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie A little further, to make thee a room.2
Underneath this sable hearse Lies the subject of all verse, Sidneys sister, Pembrokes mother. Death, ere thou hast slain another, Learnd and fair and good as she, Time shall throw a dart at thee.
Note 1. [greek] (Drink to me with your eyes alone . And if you will, take the cup to your lips and fill it with kisses, and give it so to me). Philostratus: Letter xxiv. [back]
Note 2. Renowned Spenser, lie a thought more nigh To learned Chaucer, and rare Beaumont lie A little nearer Spenser, to make room For Shakespeare in your threefold, fourfold tomb. Basse: On Shakespeare. [back]
Note 3. This epitaph is generally ascribed to Ben Jonson. It appears in the editions of his Works; but in a manuscript collection of Brownes poems preserved amongst the Lansdowne MS. No. 777, in the British Museum, it is ascribed to Browne, and awarded to him by Sir Egerton Brydges in his edition of Brownes poems. [back]