Weep with me, all you that read <br /> This little story; <br />And know for whom a tear you shed, <br /> Death's self is sorry. <br />'Twas a child that so did thrive <br /> In grace and feature, <br />As Heaven and Nature seemed to strive <br /> Which owned the creature. <br />Years he numbered scarce thirteen <br /> When Fates turned cruel, <br />Yet three filled zodiacs had he been <br /> The stage's jewel; <br />And did act (what now we moan) <br /> Old men so duly, <br />As, sooth, the Parcae thought him one, <br /> He played so truly. <br />So, by error, to his fate <br /> They all consented; <br />But viewing him since (alas, too late), <br /> They have repented, <br />And have sought (to give new birth) <br /> In baths to steep him; <br />But, being so much too good for earth, <br /> Heaven vows to keep him.<br /><br />Ben Jonson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/epitaph-on-s-p-a-child-of-queen-elizabeth-s-chapel/
