Another Epitaph on a Lady

THis Beauty faire which death in dust did turne,
And clos'd so soon within a Coffin sad,
Did passe like Lightning, like the thunder burne,
So little like so much true vertue had;
Heavens but to shew their might here made it shine,
And when admir'd then in the worlds disdaine,
(O teares, O griefe!) did call it back againe,
Lest earth should vaunt she kept what was divine,