Hark, now everything is still, <br />The screech-owl and the whistler shrill, <br />Call upon our dame aloud, <br />And bid her quickly don her shroud! <br />Much you had of land and rent; <br />Your length in clay's now competent: <br />A long war disturbed your mind; <br />Here your perfect peace is signed. <br />Of what is't fools make such vain keeping? <br />Sin their conception, their birth weeping, <br />Their life a general mist of error, <br />Their death a hideous storm of terror. <br />Strew your hair with powders sweet, <br />Don clean linen, bathe your feet, <br />And (the foul fiend more to check) <br />A crucifix let bless your neck: <br />'Tis now full tide 'tween night and day; <br />End your groan, and come away.<br /><br />John Webster<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-shrouding-of-the-duchess-of-malfi/
