But let the lover overflow with gold,--
All bolts fly back and not a dog will bark.

What God did beauty unto gold degrade,
And mix one bliss with many a woe and shame?
Tears, quarrels, curses were the gifts he made;
And Love bears now a very evil name.

False girl, who dost for riches thrust aside
Love's honest vow, may winds and flames conspire
To wreck thy wealth, while all thy beaux deride
The loss, nor throw one bowl-full on the fire!

O when dark Death shall be thy final guest,
No lover true will shed the faithful tear,
Nor bring an offering where thy ashes rest,
Nor lay one garland on thy lonely bier I

But some warm-hearted lass who loved not gain
Shall live a hundred years, yet be much mourned;
Her tomb shall be some lover's holiest fane,
With annual gift of all sad flowers adorned.

"Farewell, true heart!" his trembling lips will say,
"Let peace untroubled bless thy relics dear!"
Oft will he visit, and departing pray,
"Light lie this earth on her whose rest is here!"

Nay, it is vain such serious songs to breathe:
I must be modern, if I would prevail.