RING out your bells, let mourning fhews be spread, For Love is dead: All Love is dead, infected From them that use men thus, Good Lord, deliver us. Weep, neighbours, weep, do you not here it faid, His death-bed, peacock's folly; His will, falfe-feeming holy, His fole exec'tor, blame. From fo ungrateful, &c. Let Dirge be fung, and Trentals rightly read, Sir Wrong his tomb ordaineth Alas! Alas! Ilye: Rage hath this error bred; Where the his counsel keepeth !༥༩ THOU blind man's mark; thou fool's felf-chofen fnare, Band of all evils; cradle of caufelefs care; Defire! Defire! I have too dearly bought, But yet in vain thou haft my ruin fought; 1 LEAVE me, O Love! which reacheft but to duft Draw in thy beams, and humble all thy might O take faft hold! let that light be thy guide, In this fmall courfe, which birth draws out to death, And think how evil becometh him to flide, Who feeketh heav'n, and comes of heav'nly breath. Then farewell, World, thy uttermost I see, Splendidis longum valedico nugis. |