Each of you are a Mould of Noblenesse,
Devoted truely unto worthinesse;
Moulds though in A DAM full of rottennesse,
Vertue doth straine how vices to represse;
Now as more grace each day we doe attaine,
Doe we so munding of our grave woulds gainea

Mould-grave are you, and vertuous too you are,
On which relying you each day appeare,
Vertuously a progresse so to hold;
Lively a grave mould you may be inroll'd,
Grave in your actions, grave in vertues lore,
Rarely purtraying there you are not poore;
Ah, Mund your grave mould still untill you be,
Vaild with the vaile of upright purity,
Entred in Heaven to dwell eternally.