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 You have beheld how they With wicker arks did come To kiss and bear away The richer cowslips home.

Y'ave heard them sweetly sing, And seen them in a round: Each virgin like a spring, With honeysuckles crown'd.

But now we see none here Whose silvery feet did tread, And with dishevell'd hair Adorn'd this smoother mead.

Like unthrifts, having spent Your stock and needy grown, Y'are left here to lament Your poor estates, alone. Round, a rustic dance.

Though good things answer many good intents, Crosses do still bring forth the best events.

Though hourly comforts from the gods we see, No life is yet life-proof from misery.