WEEP no more, nor sigh, nor groan, 
Sorrow calls no time that 's gone: 
Violets pluck'd, the sweetest rain 
Makes not fresh nor grow again. 
Trim thy locks, look cheerfully; 
Fate's hid ends eyes cannot see. 
Joys as winged dreams fly fast, 
Why should sadness longer last? 
Grief is but a wound to woe; 
Gentlest fair, mourn, mourn no moe.