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.

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