On a Death's-Head, Covered with Cobwebs (Sonnet)

THIS Mortal Spoil which so neglected lies,
Death's sad Memento, now where Spiders weave
Their Subtil Webs, which Innocence deceive,
Whose Strength to break their Toyls cannot suffice:

Saw it self Crown'd, it self Triumphant saw,
With Mighty Deeds proclaiming its Renown;
Its Smiles were Favours, Terrour was its Frown,
The World of its Displeasure stood in Awe.

Where Pride ordaining Laws did once preside,
Which Land should Peace enjoy, which Wars abide.
There boldly now these little Insects nest;

Then raise not, Kings, your Haughty Plumes so high,
For in Death's cold Embraces when you lye,
Your Bones with those of common Subjects rest.