Reach me a handkerchief, another yet,
And yet another, for the last is wet.

Nothing could be better; but he must needs outdo his usual outdoings,
call for a bottle to hold his tears, finally require that--

The Muses should be summoned in by force
And spend their all upon the wounded corse--

which presents a rather comic picture to the imaginative reader.

The elegist, reserving blasphemy for his conclusion, now becomes
foolish:

In thy expyring it was made appear
In bloody wounds the Trinity was here.

_Where_ was the Trinity, you ask? In the wounds, naturally, which,
made with a three-edged dagger, showed red triangles. But there were
twelve wounds: therefore--

The gates thro' which thy fertil soul did mount
To blessed Aboad came to the full account
Of Twelve, or four times three; and three
Hath ever in it some great Mysterie.

Obviously. Here is his peroration:

Great God, what can, what shall, man's frailtie thinke
When thy great goodness at this act did winke?