Urns and Odours, bring away!
Vapours, sighs, darken the day!
Our dole more deadlier looks than dying;
Balmes and gums, and heavie cheeres,
Sacred vial fill’d with teares,
And clamours through the wild air flying!
Come, all sad and solemn shows
That are quick-ey’d Pleasure’s foes!
We convent nought else but woes:
We convent nought else but woes.
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE? JOHN FLETCHER?