St. Giles, Cripplegate
On Gervase Aire.
Under this marble fair,
Lies the body entomb’d of Gervase Aire:
He dyd not of an ague fit,
Nor surfeited by too much wit,
Methinks this was a wondrous death,
That Aire should die for want of breath.
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On Gervase Aire.
Under this marble fair,
Lies the body entomb’d of Gervase Aire:
He dyd not of an ague fit,
Nor surfeited by too much wit,
Methinks this was a wondrous death,
That Aire should die for want of breath.