Alas the meanest flowers which gardens yield
The vilest weeds that flourish in the field
Which dead in wintry sepulchres appear
Revive in spring and bloom another year
But we the great the brave the larned the wise
Soon as the hand of death has closd our eyes
In tombs forgotten be no suns restore
We sleep forever sleep to wake no more
The gravestone displays a winged head. Part of the epitaph is below ground.
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