Nor is my number full till I inscribe Thee, sprightly Soame, one of my righteous tribe; A tribe of one lip, leaven, and of one Civil behaviour, and religion; A stock of saints, where ev’ry one doth wear A stole of white, and canonised here; Among which holies be thou ever known, Brave kinsman, mark’d out with the whiter stone Which seals thy glory, since I do prefer Thee here in my eternal calender.