Epigram 58. An Epitaph on Henry the fourth of France

Forbear thy rude approch, bold Passenger:
Henry the Great, the fourth of France lies here.
His claim unto that Crown he knew so right,
That he for it unarm'd did often fight.
The sword of Mars, Minerva's Lance, and Gun
Of Mulciber fear never made him shun.
Cover'd with fire and bullets by his Foes,
He wore them not as Terrours, but his clothes.
What Spain, France, and the League could not command
With their united force, a murtherers hand
Did perpetrate: Ravilliac struck him from
The top of all his Glories to his Tombe.
As the bright Sun (throughout our Hemisphere)
His course being finished) sets full and clear,
And the next morn again doth beauteous rise,
And with his beams decks both the earth and skies:
So he (after a life triumphant led)
Did bid the world adieu, and here lies dead:
And when the last day comes (return'd from dust)
Shall glorious rise, and live among the Just.