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| Obsequies to the Lord Harringtons brother. |
| To the Countesse of Bedford. |
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| Faire soule, which wast, not onely, as all soules bee, |
| Then when thou wast infused, harmony, |
| But did'st continue so; and now dost beare |
| A part in Gods great organ, this whole Spheare: |
| If looking up to God; or downe to us, |
| Thou finde that any way is pervious, |
| Twixt heav'n and earth, and that mans actions doe |
| Come to your knowledge, and affections too, |
| See, and with joy, mee to that good degree |
| Of goodnesse growne, that I can studie thee, |
| And, by these meditations refin'd, |
| Can unapparell and enlarge my minde, |
| And so can make by this soft extasie, |
| This place a map of heav'n, my selfe of thee. |
| Thou seest mee here at midnight, now all rest; |
| Times dead-low water; when all mindes devest |
| To morrows businesse, when the labourers have |
| Such rest in bed, that their last Church-yard grave, |
| Subject to change, will scarce be'a type of this, |
| Now when the clyent, whose last hearing is |
| To morrow, sleeps, when the condemned man, |
| (Who when hee opes his eyes, must shut them than |
| Againe by death,) although sad watch hee keepe, |
| Doth practice dying by a little sleepe,
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[CW: Thou] |