Farewell, the son of my right hand and joy; my sin was too much to hope of you, loved boy. Seven years were lent to me, and I pay, demanded by fate, on the day. Oh, how could i lose fatherhood now ! for why will man be sad about the state they should envy ? To have so soon escaped the worlds and bodies pain and rage, also escaping the problems of growing up. Rest in peace, and being asked, say “here does lie Ben Jonson’s best piece of poetry.” For his sake, a vow will be made, what he loves he may never like too much.