“Mutt’ring his wayward Fancies he wou’d rove;
“Now drooping, woeful-wan, like one forlorn,
“Or craz’d with Care, or cross’d in hopeless Love.
28“One Morn I miss’d him on the custom’d Hill,
“Along the Heath, and near his fav’rite Tree;
“Another came; nor yet beside the Rill,
“Nor up the Lawn, nor at the Wood was he;
29“The next with Dirges due in sad Array
“Slow thro’ the Church-way Path we saw him born.
“Approach and read (for thou can’st read) the Lay,