Epitaph on His Eldest Son, Thomas, 1682

Whoe'er thou art, that look'st upon,
And read'st what lies beneath this stone;
What Beauty, Goodness, Innocence,
In a sad hour was snatch'd from hence.
What reason canst thou have to prize
The dearest object of thine eyes?
Believe this, mortal, what thou valuest most,
And set'st thy soul upon, is soonest lost.