Lessens not hate, yet 'tis a lesson good:
Gilt will not long hide guilt; such thin wash'd ware
Wears quickly, and its rude touch soon is rued.
Grave on my grave some sentence grave and terse,
That lies not as it lies upon my clay,
But, in a gentle strain of unstrained verse,
Prays all to pity a poor patty's prey—
Rehearses I was fruitful to my hearse,
Tell that my days are told, and soon I'm toll'd away!