A storm near equal unto Noah’s flood,
Relentless came, and swept away this wood.
Even not one solid trunk there did remain,
All batter’d remnants scatter’d o’er the plain:
The nymphs lamenting for their dear resort,
This wood is gone, alas! our chief support;
All was confusion both to high and low,
At this most sad and unexpected blow.
Ye empty fops, now take the hint for good,
No more your offspring can be laid to wood.