True's Epitaph

IF wit or honesty could save
Our mouldering ashes from the grave,
This stone had still remain'd unmark'd,
I still writ prose. True still have bark'd.
But envious Fate has claim'd its due,
Here lies the mortal part of True;
His deathless virtues must survive,
To better us that are alive.

His prudence and his wit were seen
In that, from Mary's grace and mien,
He own'd the power, and lov'd the Queen.
By long obedience he confest
That serving her was to be blest.
Ye murmurers, let True evince
That men are beasts, and dogs have sense !
His faith and truth all Whitehall knows,
He ne'er could fawn or flatter those
Whom he believ'd were Mary's foes :
Ne'er skulk'd from whence his sovereign led him,
Or snarl'd against the hand that fed him.
Read this, ye statesmen now in favour.
And mend your own, by True's behaviour !