May all shy maids, at wonted hours,
Come forth to strew thy tomb with flow'rs:
May virgins, when they come to mourn,
Male-incense burn
Upon thine altar! then return,
And leave thee sleeping in thy urn.
Cauls, nets for the hair.
Falls, trimmings hanging loosely.
Male-incense, incense in globular drops.
84. TO GOD: ON HIS SICKNESS.
What though my harp and viol be
Both hung upon the willow tree?
What though my bed be now my grave,
And for my house I darkness have?
What though my healthful days are fled,
And I lie number'd with the dead?
Yet I have hope, by Thy great power,
To spring; though now a wither'd flower.
85. SINS LOATHED, AND YET LOVED.
Shame checks our first attempts; but then 'tis prov'd
Sins first dislik'd are after that belov'd.
86. SIN.
Sin leads the way, but as it goes, it feels
The following plague still treading on his heels.