Ye sacred relics, which your marble keep, <br />Here, undisturbed by wars, in quiet sleep; <br />Discharge the trust, which, when it was below, <br />Fairborne's undaunted soul did undergo, <br />And be the town's palladium from the foe. <br />Alive and dead these walls he will defend: <br />Great actions great examples must attend. <br />The Candian siege his early valour knew, <br />Where Turkish blood did his young hands imbrue. <br />From thence returning with deserved applause, <br />Against the Moors his well-fleshed sword he draws; <br />The same the courage, and the same the cause. <br />His youth and age, his life and death, combine, <br />As in some great and regular design, <br />All of a piece throughout, and all divine. <br />Still nearer heaven his virtues shone more bright, <br />Like rising flames expanding in their height; <br />The martyr's glory crowned the soldier's fight. <br />More bravely British general never fell, <br />Nor general's death was e'er revenged so well; <br />Which his pleased eyes beheld before their close, <br />Followed by thousand victims of his foes. <br />To his lamented loss, for time to come, <br />His pious widow consecrates this tomb.<br /><br />John Dryden<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/epitaph-on-sir-palmes-fairborne-s-tomb-in-westminster-abbey/
