WEEP NO MORE

Weep no more, nor sigh nor groan,

Sorrow calls no time that's gone:

Violets plucked, the sweetest rain

Makes not fresh nor grow again;

Trim thy locks, look chearfully,

Fate's hidden ends eyes cannot see.

Joys as wingèd dreams fly fast,

Why should sadness longer last?

Grief is but a wound to woe;

Gentlest fair, mourn, mourn no moe.[195]

John Fletcher