flowers let us cull for maria's cold bier.
we'll search through the garden for each silly flower,
we'll roam thro' the forest for each idle weed;
but chiefly the le, so typical, shower,
for none e'er approach'd her but rued the rash deed.
we'll sculpture the marble, we'll measure the y;
here vanity strums on her idiot lyre;
there keen indignation shall dart on his prey,
which spurning pt shall redeem from his ire.