Verse > Anthologies > Andrew Macphail, ed. > The Book of Sorrow
Andrew Macphail, comp.  The Book of Sorrow.  1916.
XXIX. The Happy Dead
From ‘Epitaph on the Daughter of Sir Thomas Wentworth’
By Thomas Carew (1595?–1639?)
AND here the precious dust is laid,
Whose purely-tempered clay was made
So fine, that it the guest betrayed….
In height, it soar’d to God above,
In depth, it did to knowledge move,        5
And spread in breadth to general love….
Good to the poor, to kindred dear,
To servants kind, to friendship clear,
To nothing but herself severe.
So, though a virgin, yet a bride        10
To every grace, she justified
A chaste polygamy, and died.
Learn from hence, reader, what small trust
We owe this world, where virtue must,
Frail as our flesh, crumble to dust.        15

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