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Twas not a winded nor a withred face
Nor any gray hares, nor dimnes in the eyes
Nor feble limbs, nor uncoth trembling pace
Presadg his death that here intombed lies.
His time was come, his maker was not bounde
To let him live till all theis markes were founde
His time was come, that time he did imbrace
With sence & feelinge with a Ioyfull harte
As his best passage to a better place
Where all his cares are ended & his smarte
This Roope was blest that trusted in God alone
He lives twoe lives, where others live but one