To Clelia

PROOF against Time, and Age,
And Fortunes Batteries, and Wars out-rage;
Able to Triumph o're the' Affright
Of an Eternal Night,
Of maigre Sickness, and the rotting Grave,
When no Embalments else can save,
But in themselves their own Consumption have.
When Tombs and Epitaphs shall die,
And in an heap as undistinguisht lie
From the dry Bones, and Dust,
Committed to their trust,
In hopes of Immortality,
As if they were themselves a Portion of the Rust;
This Shadow, Clelia, shall preserve intire
Those Reliques incorrupted, and unmixt;
The very Air, and Fire,
The active Youth your presence did inspire,
And that bright Image of your Self it on me fixt.
And tho one common Urn may possibly contain,
(Tho not dispairing of return again)
My Ashes, and a thousand more,
Of such as shall be, or have gone before,
Here's that will almost give Eternity,
And next his Verse, who made the Draught ne're let me die.