Epitaph on Elizabeth, L. H.
Wouldst thou hear what man can say
In a little? Reader, stay.
Underneath this stone doth lie
As much beauty as could die;
Which in life did harbour give
To more virtue than doth live.
If at all she had a fault,
Leave it buried in this vault.
One name was Elizabeth,
Th’ other let it sleep with death:
Fitter, where it died to tell,
Than that it liv’d at all. Farewell.
