Brought forth in sorrow, and bred up in care, <br />Two tender Children here entombed are: <br />One Place, one Sire, one Womb their being gave, <br />They had one mortal sickness, and one grave. <br />And though they cannot number many years <br />In their Account, yet with their Parents tears <br />This comfort mingles; Though their dayes were few <br />They scarcely sinne, but never sorrow knew: <br />So that they well might boast, they carry'd hence <br />What riper ages lose, their innocence. <br />You pretty losses, that revive the fate <br />Which in your mother death did antedate, <br />O let my high-swol'n grief distill on you <br />The saddest drops of a Parentall dew: <br />You ask no other dower then what my eyes <br />Lay out on your untimely exequies: <br />When once I have discharg'd that mournfull skore, <br />Heav'n hath decreed you ne're shall cost me more, <br />Since you release and quit my borrow'd trust, <br />By taking this inheritance of dust.<br /><br />Henry King<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-two-children-dying-of-one-disease-and-buried-in-one-grave/
