In Remembrance of my Friend, MARY PENINGTON

Upon September's eighteenth Day, In sixteen hundred eighty two, Death took a virtuous DAME away, Who of her Equals left but few; She Widow was, but now is gone To SPRINGETT and to PENINGTON.

For personal Endowments held She justly was, to few behind; But those wherein she most excell'd, Were the Endowments of the Mind: My Pen, I fear, would wrong her Worth, Should I attempt to set them forth.

I therefore purposely abstain, From seeking Words, to speak her Praise, I know 'twould Labour be in vain, Her Fame no Words can higher raise; Let others sing her Worth, while I Honour and love her Memory.