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.