Parnassus biceps. Or Severall choice pieces of poetry, composed by the best wits that were in both the universities before their dissolution. With an epistle in the behalfe of those now doubly secluded and sequestred Members, by one who himselfe is none.

On a woman dying in travell the child unborne.

WIthin this grave there is a grave intombd, Here lies a mother and a child inwombd. Twas strange that nature so much vigour gave To one that nere was born, to make a grave. Yet an injunction stranger nature willd her, Poor mother, to be tomb to that which kild her: And not with so much cruelty content, Buries the child, the grave, and monument. Where shall we write the Epitaph? whereon? The child, the grave, the monument is gone: Or if upon the child we write a staffe, Where shall we write the tombs own Epitaph? Onely this way is left, and now we must As on a table carpeted with dust Make chisells of our fingers, and engrave An Epitaph both on the tomb and grave Within the dust: but when some hours are gone Will not the Epitaph have need of one? I know it well: yet grave it therefore deep That those which know the losse may truly weep

And shed their tears so justly in that place Which we before did with a finger trace, That filling up the letters they may lie As inlaid Christall to posterity. Where (as in glasse) if any write another Let him say thus, here lies a haplesse mother Whom cruel sate hath made to be a tomb, And kept in travell till the day of doom.