This craggy stone or covering is for an architect's bed,
That lofty buildings raised high; yet now lyes down his head:
His line and rule, so death concludes, are locked up in store,
Build they who list, or they who wist, for he can build no more.
His house of clay could hold no longer:
May Heavens frame him a stronger.
John Abel.
Vive ut vivas in vitam æternam.’