Book III, Satire 2

GReat Osmond knowes not how he shalbe known
When once great Osmond shalbe dead & gone:
Vnlesse he reare vp some rich monument,
Ten furlongs nearer to the firmament.
Some stately tombe he builds, Egyptian wise,
Rex Regum written on the Pyramis:
Where as great Arthur lies in ruder oke,
That neuer felt none but the fellers stroke.
Small honour can be got with gaudie graue:
Nor it thy rotten name from death can saue.
The fairer tombe, the fowler is thy name.
The greater pompe procuring greater shame,
Thy monument make thou thy liuing deeds:
No other tombe then that, true vertue needs,
What? had he nought whereby he might be knowne,
But costly pilements of some curious stone?
The matter, Natures, and the workmans frame,
His purses cost; where then is Osmonds name?
Deseru'dst thou ill? well were thy name and thee.
Wert thou inditched in great secrecie,
Where as no passenger might curse thy dust,
Nor dogs sepulchrall sate their gawning lust.
Thine ill deserts cannot be graued with thee,
So long as on thy graue they ingraued bee.