Hothill
Miles Branthwaite.
If Death would take an answer, he was free
From all those seats of ills that he did see,
And gave no measure that he would not have
Given to him as hardly as he gave:
Then thou, Miles Branthwaite, might have answer’d Death,
And to be so moral might boyle breath,
Thou wast not yet to die. But be thou blest,
From weary life thou art gone quiet to rest,
Joy in the freedom from a prison, thou
Wast by God’s hands pluckt out but now,
Free from the dust and cobwebs of this vale;
And richer art thou by the heavenly bail
Than he that shut thee up. This heap of stones
To thy remembrance, and to chest thy bones,
Thy wife doth consecrate; so sleep till then,
When all graves must open, all yield up their men.