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AN EPITAPH Upon His Late MAJESTY, King CHARLES the II.
THE Statue, which the Rhodians say, The Sun Descends on every Day; Is also here in ENGLAND set Within this Royal Cabinet; To whose Eternal Hallowed-Vrn, Pilgrims from Far, shall come and Mourn: Their Snowy-Heads shall Prostrate here, And Drop a Pearly-Aged Tear. TIME, that does make of All his Game, And over all our Hours does Reign; With this Great Treasure now Possest, May set Him down in Peace, and Rest; While We (through Sorrows-Vale) go on, As CAESAR past Great-Rubicon.
Thy Actions cannot be Inrol'd,
Nor can upon the Brass be told,
Nor can be set in Amell'd-Gold,
Like Wonders that the Poets tell
Of HERO'S that in Marble Dwell;
Which like to Rocks that Tempests Scorn,
And oft are Angry with the Storm;
Must Bow, and yield at TIMES Great Call,
And into Flinty-pieces fall:
While thy Blest Name shall still Out-live
(All the Decay that Age can give)
More sweet then those Hydaspes Lends,
And the Fam'd-Phoenix e're she Ends:
Thy Spirit did (like Elijah) Fall
To Bless us at thy FUNERAL.
FINIS.