An Epitaph on S.P.

A Child of Queen Elizabeth's Chapel
Weep with me, all you that read
 This little story:
And know, for whom a tear you shed
 Death's self is sorry.
'Twas a child, that so did thrive
 In grace and feature,
As heaven and nature seem'd to strive
 Which own'd the creature.
Years he number'd scarce thirteen
 When fates turn'd cruel,
Yet three fill'd zodiacs had he been
 The stage's jewel;
And did act (what now we moan)
 Old men so duly,
As, sooth, the Parcæ thought him one,
 He play'd so truly.
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 baths to steep him;
But being so much too good for earth,
 Heaven vows to keep him.