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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=539470" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>On The Death Of Ladie Caesar</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Though Death to good men be the greatest boone,<br>I dare not think this Lady dyde so soone.<br>She should have livde for others: Poor mens want<br>Should make her stande, though she herselfe should faynt.<br>What though her vertuous deeds did make her seeme<br>Of equall age with old Methusalem?<br>Shee should have livde the more, and ere she fell<br>Have stretcht her little Span unto an Ell.<br>May wee not thinke her in a sleep or sowne,<br>Or that shee only tries her bedde of grounde?<br>Besides the life of Fame, is shee all deade?<br>As deade as Vertue, which together fledde:<br>As dead as men without it: and as cold<br>As Charity, that long ago grewe old.<br>Those eyes of pearle are under marble sett,<br>And now the Grave is made the Cabinett.<br>Tenne or an hundred doe not loose by this,<br>But all mankinde doth an Example misse.<br>A little earth cast upp betweene her sight<br>And us eclypseth all the world with night.<br>What ere Disease, to flatter greedy Death,<br>Hath stopt the organ of such harmlesse breath,<br>May it bee knowne by a more hatefull name<br>Then now the Plague: and for to quell the same<br>May all Physitians have an honest will:<br>May Pothecaries learne the Doctors skill:<br>May wandring Mountebanks, and which is worse<br>May an old womans medicine have the force<br>To vanquish it, and make it often flie,<br>Till Destiny on's servant learne to die.<br>May death itselfe, and all its Armory<br>Bee overmatcht with one poore Recipe.<br>What need I curse it? for, ere Death will kill<br>Another such, so farre estrang'd from ill,<br>So fayre, so kinde, so wisely temperate,<br>Time will cutt off the very life of Fate.<br>To make a perfect Lady was espyde<br>No want in her of anything but Pride:<br>And as for wantonnesse, her modesty<br>Was still as coole as now her ashes bee.<br>Seldome hath any Daughter lesse than her<br>Favourde the stampe of Eve her grandmother.<br>Her soule was like her body; both so cleare<br>As that a brighter eye than mans must peere<br>To finde a Blott; nor can wee yet suspect<br>But only by her Death the least defect:<br>And were not that the wages due to Sinne<br>Wee might beleeve that spotlesse she had bin.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Strode">William Strode</a><div class=q>
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<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=539470" data-title="On The Death Of Ladie Caesar de William Strode" data-description="Though Death to good men be the greatest boone,
I dare not think this Lady dyde so soone.
She should have livde for others: Poor mens want
Should make her stande, though she herselfe should faynt.
What though her vertuous deeds did make her seeme
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