No verse, No epicedium, bring; 10 Nor peaceful requiem sing, To charm the terrors of my hearse; No profane numbers must flow near The sacred silence that dwells here. Vast griefs are dumb: softly, oh softly mourn! 15 Lest you disturb the peace attends my urn. Yet strew Upon my dismal grave Such offerings as you have: Forsaken cypress, and sad yew; 20 For kinder flowers can take no birth Or growth from such unhappy earth. Weep only o'er my dust, and say: "Here lies To Love and Fate an equal sacrifice." THE SILKWORM. The[51:1] silkworm, to long sleep retir'd, The early year hath re-inspir'd, Who now to pay to thee prepares The tribute of her pleasing cares; And hastens with industrious toil 5 To make her ornament thy spoil.[51:2] See with what pains[51:3] she spins for thee The thread of her own destiny, Then, (growing proud in death, to know That all her curious labours thou[51:4] 10 Wilt, as in triumph, deign to wear!) Retires to her soft sepulchre. Such, Dearest, is that hapless state To which I am design'd by Fate, Who, by thee willingly o'ercome, 15 Work mine own fetters and my tomb. AMBITION. I must no longer now admire The coldness which possess'd Thy snowy breast, That can by other flames be set on fire; Poor Love, to harsh Disdain betray'd, 5 Is by Ambition thus outweigh'd. Hadst thou but known the vast extent Of constant faith, how far 'Bove all that are Born slaves to wealth, or honours' vain ascent;[52:1] 10 No richer treasure couldst thou find Than hearts with mutual chains combin'd. But Love is too despis'd a name, And must not hope to rise Above these ties. 15 Honours[52:2] and wealth outshine his paler flame! These unite souls, whilst true desire Unpitied dies in its own fire. Yet, cruel fair one, I did aim With no less justice too, 20 Than those that sue For other hopes, and thy proud fortunes claim. Wealth honours, honours wealth, approve; But Beauty's only meant for Love. SONG.