How are our Spirituall Gamesters slipt away?
Crossing their Hilts, and leaving of their play?
We take up hilts, the Fencing Schoole implore.
Are Norton, Newman, Stone, Thompson gone hence?
Gray, Wilson, Shepherd, Flint, and Mitchell since?
Eliot, two Mather's Fathers first, then th'Son,
Is Buncker's Woodward's Rainer's hourglass run?
With Davenport's Sim's, Wareham's? Who are gone?
That Allen now is Called hence? Shall none
Be left behinde to tell's the Quondam Glory
Of this Plantation? What bleeding Story
Doth this present us with? Mine eyes boile ore
Thy gellid teares into this Urn therefore,
Wherein their Noble ashes are, and know yee
Allend in Allen, by a Paragoge.