MADAM— br That I might make your cabinet my tomb, br And for my fame, which I love next my soul, br Next to my soul provide the happiest room, br Admit to that place this last funeral scroll. br Others by wills give legacies, but I br Dying, of you do beg a legacy. br br My fortune and my will this custom break, br When we are senseless grown to make stones speak, br Though no stone tell thee what I was, yet thou br In my grave's inside seest what thou art now, br Yet thou 'rt not yet so good ; till death us lay br To ripe and mellow there, we're stubborn clay. br Parents make us earth, and souls dignify br Us to be glass ; here to grow gold we lie. br Whilst in our souls sin bred and pamper'd is, br Our souls become worm-eaten carcases.