Epitaph to (S. P.) Ben Jonson 1602

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Weepe with me all you that read
This little storie:
And know, for whom a teare you shed,
Death's self is sorry.
'Twas a child that did so thrive
In grace and feature,
As heaven and nature seemed to strive
Which owned the creature.
Yeares he numbered scarce thirteene
When fates turned cruell
Yet three fill'd Zodiackes had he beene
The stage's jewell;
And did act (what now we mone)
Old men so duely,
As, sooth, the Parcae thought him one,
He plai'd so truely.
So, by error, to his fate they all consented;
But viewing him since, (alas too late),
They have repented.
And have sought (to give new birth)
In bathes to steep him;
But, being so much too good for earth,
Heaven vows to keep him.