On the Tombs in Westminster Abbey

MORTALITY, behold and fear!

What a change of flesh is here!

Think how many royal bones

Sleep within these heaps of stones;

Here they lie, had realms and lands,

Who now want strength to stir their hands;

Where from their pulpits sealed with dust

They preach, ‘In greatness is no trust.'

Here's an acre sown indeed

With the richest royallest seed / That the earth did e'er suck in / Since the first man died for sin: / Here the bones of birth have cried, / ‘Though gods they were, as men they died!' / Here are sands, ignoble things, / Dropt from the ruined sides of kings: / Here's a world of pomp and state / Buried in dust, once dead by fate.