Read "Epitaph on himself: to the Countess of Bedford" by John Donne online for free on Textopian. Full text with search, annotations, highlights, and AI-powered reading aids.
Madam, / That I might make your cabinet my tomb, / And for my fame, which I love next my soul, / Next to my soul provide the happiest room, / Admit to that place this last funeral scroll. / Others by wills give legacies, but I / Dying, of you do beg a legacy.
My fortune and my will this custom break, / When we are senseless grown to make stones speak, / Though no stone tell thee what I was, yet thou / In my grave's inside see what thou art now, / Yet thou'rt not yet so good; till us death lay / To ripe and mellow there, we're stubborn clay. / Parents make us earth, and souls dignify / Us to be glass; here to grow gold we lie. / Whilst in our souls sin bred and pamper'd is, / Our souls become worm-eaten carcases.