Volume 1 — THE EPITAPH

Here, five feet deep, lies on his back A cobbler, starmonger, and quack; Who to the stars, in pure good will, Does to his best look upward still. Weep, all you customers that use His pills, his almanacks, or shoes; And you that did your fortunes seek, Step to his grave but once a-week; This earth, which bears his body's print, You'll find has so much virtue in't, That I durst pawn my ears, 'twill tell Whate'er concerns you full as well, In physic, stolen goods, or love, As he himself could, when above.