Happy the Man that knows the Value just
Of Earthly Things, nor is enslav'd to Dust.
'Tis a rich Gift the Skies but rarely send
To Fav'rite Souls. Then happy thou, my Friend,
For thou hadst learnt to Manage and Command
The Wealth that Heaven bestow'd with Liberal Hand:
Hence this fair Structure rose; and hence this Seat
Made to invite my not unwilling Feet;
In vain 'twas made! for We shall never meet,
And Smile, and Love, and Bless each other here,
The Envious Tomb forbids thy Face t' appear,
Detains thee  from my longing Eyes,
And all my hopes lie buried where my  lies.