His Poetrie his Pillar.

ONely a little more
I have to write,
Then Ile give o're,
And bid the world Good-night.

'Tis but a flying minute,
That I must stay,
Or linger in it;
And then I must away.

O time that cut'st down all!
And scarce leav'st here
Memoriall
Of any men that were.

How many lye forgot
In Vaults beneath?
And piece-meale rot
Without a fame in death?

Behold this living stone,
I reare for me,
Ne'n to be thrown
Downe, envious Time by thee.

Pillars let some set up,
(If so they please)
Here is my hope,
And my Pyramides.