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 fillβd with tears, And clamours through the wild air flying!
Come, all sad and solemn shows, That are quick-eyed Pleasureβs foes! We convΓ¨nt naught else but woes.