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| Or I shall live your epitaph to make, | 1 |
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| Or you survive when I in earth am rotten; |
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| From hence your memory death cannot take, |
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| Although in me each part will be forgotten. |
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| Your name from hence immortal life shall have, | 5 |
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| Though I, once gone, to all the world must die: |
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| The earth can yield me but a common grave, |
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| When you entombed in men's eyes shall lie. |
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| Your monument shall be my gentle verse, |
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| Which eyes not yet created shall o'er-read; | 10 |
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| And tongues to be, your being shall rehearse, |
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| When all the breathers of this world are dead; |
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 You still shall live,—such virtue hath my pen,— |
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| Where breath most breathes, even in the mouths of men. |
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