Urns and Odours, bring away,
Vapors, sighs, darken the day;
Our dole more deadly looks, than dying
Balmes, and Gumms, and heavy cheers,
Sacred vi[a]ls fill'd with tears,
And clamors, through the wild air flying:
Come all sad and solemn Shows,
That are quick-ey'd pleasures foes;
We convent nought else but woes.
We convent, &c.
3 Qu. This funeral path, brings to your houshold grave[:]
Joy seize on you again: peace, sleep with him.
2 Qu. And this to yours.
1 Qu. Yours this way: Heavens lend
A thousand differing ways to one sure end.
3 Qu. This world's a City full of straying streets,
And Death's the Market-place, where each one meets. [Exeunt severally.