Epitaphs
To my true king I offerd free from stain Courage and faith; vain faith, and courage vain. For him I threw lands, honours, wealth, away, And one dear hope, that was more prized than they. For him I languishd in a foreign clime, Gray-haird with sorrow in my manhoods prime; Heard on Lavernia Scargills whispering trees, And pined by Arno for my lovelier Tees; Beheld each night my home in feverd sleep, Each morning started from the dream to weep; Till God, who saw me tried too sorely, gave The resting-place I askd, an early grave. O thou, whom chance leads to this nameless stone, From that proud country which was once mine own, By those white cliffs I never more must see, By that dear language which I spake like thee, Forget all feuds, and shed one English tear Oer English dust. A broken heart lies here. — Epitaphs love
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