Funerall Elegies: Eleg. 15

PArdon my teares, if they be too too free,
And if thou canst not weepe, I'le pardon thee,
Dull Stoick; If thou laugh to heare his death,
I'le weep, that thou wert borne to spend that breath
Thou dry-brain'd Portick, whose Ahenian brest,
(Transcending passion) never was opprest
With griefe; O had your flinty Sect but lost
So rare a prize, as we lament and boast,
Your hearts had crost your Tenet, and disburst
As many drops as we have done, or burst;
No marvell, that your marble braines could crosse
Her lawes, that never gave you such a losse.