O heavy herse!
Now is time to die: nay, time was long ago:
O careful verse!
"Whence is it, that the flowret of the field doth fade,
And lieth buried long in Winter's bale;
Yet, soon as Spring his mantle hath display'd,
It flow'reth fresh, as it should never fail?
But thing on earth that is of most avail,
As virtue's branch and beauty's bud,
Reliven not for any good.