Poems, by Andrew Marvell

An Epitaph Upon ———

Enough; and leave the rest to fame;

’Tis to commend her, but to name.

Courtship, which, living, she declined,

When dead, to offer were unkind.

Where never any could speak ill,

Who would officious praises spill?

Nor can the truest wit, or friend.

Without detracting, her commend;

To say, she lived a virgin chaste

In this age loose and all unlaced;10

Nor was, when vice is so allowed,

Of virtue or ashamed or proud;

That her soul was on Heaven so bent,

No minute but it came and went;

That, ready her last debt to pay,

She summed her life up every day;

Modest as morn, as mid-day bright.

Gentle as evening, cool as night:

’Tis true; but all too weakly said;

Twas more significant, she’s dead.20


Last updated Sunday, March 27, 2016 at 11:58