Weep no more, nor sigh, nor groan,
Sorrow calls no time that’s gone:
Violets pluck’d, the sweetest rain
Makes not fresh nor grow again;
Trim thy locks, look cheerfully,
Fate’s hid ends eyes cannot see;
Joys as winged dreams fly fast,
Why should sadness longer last?
Grief is but a wound to woe;
Gentlest, fair, mourn no moe.