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TO THE MEMORY OF EDWARD CARNE OF EWENNEY, ESQRE, DECEASED.

Here lies an house intom'd in one Carne's fall,
Sadly bemoan'd in Wenny's funerall.
Glamorgan's losse and hopes one hour hath caste
Into this urne of Carne's the best and last.
Auntient in stocke and of a race so long
That to deriv't would tyre the heralds' tongue,
Greate Rhese’s liegeman, one whose scutchion bears
Charges as aged as Fittshamon's peres.
But great as little time hath both their dates,
And familyes as well as men their fates.
Yet birth's but borrow'd he was noble growne,
And fraught with partes which we can call his own
In years but youth, in worth a man, a plant
That did more standing not matureness want.
Grief and joy's equal object one in name,
Destroyed and yet surviving in his fame.
A husband twice, and not a father less,
But crossed with a most erring fruitfulness
His issues missed their sex, had that been right,
And nature sons for daughters brought to light,
His friends had now with half the sorrow cried,
For Edward only and not Carne had died.