EPITAPHS. TO The Obsequies of the blessed Prince, JAMES, King of Great Brittaine

LEt holy David, Solomon the Wise,
That King, whose Breast Aegeria did inflame;
Augustus, Helens Son, Great in all Eyes,
Do Homage low to thy Mausolean Frame;
And bow before thy Laurels Anadem.
Let all those sacred Swans, which to the Skies
By never-dying Layes have rais'd their Name,
From North to South, where Sun doth set and rise.
Religion, Orphan'd, waileth o're thy Urne,
Justice weeps out her Eyes, now truly blind,
To Niobes the remnant Vertues turne:
Fame, but to blaze thy Glories, staies behind
I'th' World, which late was golden by thy Breath,
Is Iron turn'd, and horrid by thy Death.