Urns and odours bring away!

Vapours, sighs, darken the day!

Our dole more deadly looks than dying;

Balms and gums and heavy cheers,

Sacred vials fill'd with tears,

And clamours through the wild air flying!



Come, all sad and solemn shows,

That are quick-eyed Pleasure's foes!

We convent naught else but woes.