The Sunne is spent, and now his flasks
Send forth light squibs, no constant rayes;
5The worlds whole sap is sunke:
The generall balme th'hydroptique earth hath drunk,
Whither, as to the beds-feet, life is shrunke,
Dead and enterr'd; yet all these seeme to laugh,
Compar'd with mee, who am their Epitaph.
10Study me then, you who shall lovers bee
At the next world, that is, at the next Spring:
For I am every dead thing,