Here you will find the Poem Epitaph for Maria Wentworth of poet Thomas Carew
And here the precious dust is laid; Whose purely-temper'd clay was made So fine that it the guest betray'd. Else the soul grew so fast within, It broke the outward shell of sin, And so was hatch'd a cherubin. In height, it soar'd to God above; In depth, it did to knowledge move, And spread in breadth to general love. Before, a pious duty shin'd To parents, courtesy behind; On either side an equal mind. Good to the poor, to kindred dear, To servants kind, to friendship clear, To nothing but herself severe. So, though a virgin, yet a bride To ev'ry grace, she justified A chaste polygamy, and died. Learn from hence, reader, what small trust We owe this world, where virtue must, Frail as our flesh, crumble to dust.