It was his Merit, that his FunerallCould cause a losse so great and generall.If there be any Spirit can answer giveOf such as hence depart, to such as live:Speake, Doth his body there vermiculate,Crumble to dust, and feele the lawes of Fate?Me thinkes, Corruption, Wormes, what else is fouleShould spare the Temple of so faire a Soule.I could beleeve they doe; but that I knowWhat inconvenience might hereafter grow:Succeeding ages would Idolatrize,And as his Numbers, so his Reliques prize.If that Philosopher, which did avowThe world to be but Mores, was living now:He would affirme that th'Atomes of his mouldWere they in severall bodies blended, wouldProduce new worlds of Travellers, Divines,Of Linguists, Poets: sith these severall LinesIn him concentred were, and flowing thenceMight fill againe the worlds Circumference.I could beleeve this too; and yet my faithNot want a President: The Phoenix hath(And such was He) a power to animateHer ashes, and herselfe perpetuate.But, busie Soule, thou dost not well to pryInto these Secrets; Griefe, and Iealousie,The more they know, the further still advance,0