31 A. 4 Voc. [An EPITAPH on an honest Citizen, and true Friend to all Claret-drinkers.] (Book 31)
〈♫〉〈♫〉 HEre li╌eth Sy╌mon cold as Clay, who whil'st he liv'd, cry'd, who whil'st he liv'd,
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〈♫〉〈♫〉 HEre li╌eth Sy╌mon cold as Clay, who whil'st he liv'd, cry'd, who whil'st he liv'd,
cry'd, Tip a╌way; and when Death puts out his Ta╌per, he needeth no touch, he needeth no Touch up╌on a Pa╌per. Now let him rest, since he is dead, and asks not for a bit, and asks not for a bit of Bread, before he dy'd, and that is much, for Death gave him, for Death gave him a Ra╌cey Touch.