<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408456" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>AN ELEGY Upon the L. Bishop of London John King</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sad Relick of a blessed Soul! whose trust <br>We sealed up in this religious dust. <br>O do not thy low Exequies suspect <br>As the cheap arguments of our neglect. <br>'Twas a commanded duty that thy grave <br>As little pride as thou thy self should have. <br>Therefore thy covering is an humble stone, <br>And but a word for thy inscription. <br>When those that in the same earth neighbour thee, <br>Have each his Chronicle and Pedigree: <br>They have their waving pennons and their flagges, <br>(Of Matches and Alliance formal bragges.) <br>VVhen thou (although from Ancestors thou came <br>Old as the Heptarchy, great as thy Name) <br>Sleep'st there inshrin'd in thy admired parts, <br>And hast no Heraldry but thy deserts. <br>Yet let not Them their prouder Marbles boast, <br>For They rest with less honour, though more cost. <br>Go, search the world, and with your Mattocks wound <br>The groaning bosom of the patient ground: <br>Digge from the hidden veins of her dark womb <br>All that is rare and precious for a tomb: <br>Yet when much treasure, and more time is spent <br>You must grant His the nobler Monument. <br>Whose Faith stands ore Him for a Hearse, and hath <br>The Resurrection for His Epitaph.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+King">Henry King</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408456" data-title="AN ELEGY Upon the L. Bishop of London John King de Henry King" data-description="Sad Relick of a blessed Soul! whose trust We sealed up in this religious dust. O do not thy low Exequies suspect As the cheap arguments of our neglect. 'Twas a commanded duty that thy grave As little pride as thou thy self should have. There..."></div> </div> </div>

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