Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/291

 GILES FLETCHER

In my chambers to attend me: All the stars in Heav'n that shine, And ten thousand more, are mine: Only bend thy knee to me, Thy wooing shall thy winning be!

��FRANCIS BEAUMONT 242 On the Tombs in Westminster Abbey

MORTALITY, behold and fear' Think how many royal bones Sleep within this heap of stones. Here they lie had realms and lands, Who now want strength to stir their hands: Where from their pulpits seaPd with dust They preach, 'In greatness is no trust.' Here 's an acre sown indeed With the richest, royall'st seed That the earth did e'er suck in Since the first man died for sin: Here the bones of birth have cried 'Though gods they were, as men they died.' Here are sands, ignoble things, Dropt from the ruin'd sides of kings; Here 's a world of pomp and state, Buried in dust, once dead by fate.

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