Three Epitaphs upon the Death of a Rare Child of Six Years Old

Wit's perfection, Beauty's wonder,
Nature's pride, the Graces' treasure,
Virtue's hope, his friends' sole pleasure,
This small marble stone lies under;
Which is often moist with tears.
For such loss in such young years.

Lovely boy! thou art not dead,
But from earth to heaven fled;
For base earth was far unfit
For thy beauty, grace, and wit.

Thou alive on earth, sweet boy,
Hadst an angel's wit and face;
And now dead, thou dost enjoy.
In high Heaven, an angel's place.