Bid [amaranthus] all his beauty shed,
And [daffadillies] fill their cups with tears, 150
To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies.
For so, to interpose a little ease,
Let our frail thoughts [dally with false surmise].
Ay me! whilst thee the shores and sounding seas
Wash far away, where’er thy bones are hurled; 155
Whether beyond [the stormy Hebrides],
Where thou perhaps under the whelming tide
Visit’st the bottom of the monstrous world;