To Sir W. A

THough I have twice been at the Doores of Death,
And twice found shut those Gates which ever mourn,
This but a Lightning is, Truce ta'ne to Breath,
For late borne sorrows augure fleet return.

Amidst thy sacred Cares, and Courtly Toyles,
Alexis, when thou shalt heare wandring Fame
Tell, Death hath triumph'd o're my mortall Spoyles,
And that on Earth I am but a sad Name;

If thou e're held me deare, by all our Love,
By all that Blisse, those Joyes Heaven here us gave,
I conjure thee, and by the Maids of Jove,
To grave this short remembrance on my Grave▪

Here Damon lies, whose Songs did sometime grace
The murmuring Esk, may Roses shade the place.