An EPITAPH upon a Clergyman, passionately fond of Musick

Here Trillo lies, a laughing, merry priest, Who lov'd good ale, a fiddle, and a jest;— Death took him in the middle of a song, Ty'd all his singers, and untun'd his tongue; Low rest his bones, his soul ascends on high, In sure and certain hopes its heav'n is nigh, Where he may sing and play to all eternity!