Epitaph of the Present Year on the Monument of Thomas Fuller

A Lutheran stout, I hold for Goose-and-Gaundry

Both the Pope's Limbo and his fiery Laundry:

No wit e'er saw I in Original Sin,

And no Sin find I in Original Wit;

But if I'm all in the wrong, and, Grin for Grin,

Scorch'd Souls must pay for each too lucky hit,—

Oh, Fuller! much I fear, so vast thy debt,

Thou art not out of Purgatory yet;

Tho' one, eight, three and three this year is reckon'd,

And thou, I think, didst die sub Charles the Second.