Epitaph

THe Bawd of Justice, he who Laws controll'd,
And made them fawn, and frown as he got gold,
That Proteus of our State, whose Heart and Mouth
Were farther distant than is North from South,
That Cormorant who made himselfe so grosse
On Peoples Ruine, and the Princes Losse,
Is gone to Hell, and though he here did evill,
He there perchance may prove an honest Devill.