Her obsequies have been as far enlarged As we have warranty: her death was doubtful; And, but that great command o’ersways the order, She should in ground unsanctified have lodged Till the last trumpet; for charitable prayers, Shards, flints and pebbles should be thrown on her: Yet here she is allow’d her virgin crants, Her maiden strewments and the bringing home Of bell and burial.

No more be done: We should profane the service of the dead To sing a requiem and such rest to her As to peace-parted souls.

Lay her i’ the earth: And from her fair and unpolluted flesh May violets spring! I tell thee, churlish priest, A ministering angel shall my sister be, When thou liest howling.