I saw whe shroud did lurk

    A curious frame of Nature’s work;

    A flo crushe bud,

    A nameless piece of Babyhood,

    as in her cradle-coffin lying;

    Extinct, he sense of dying:

    So soon to exche imprisoning womb

    For darker closets of tomb!

    S ope an eye, and put

    A clear beam fortraig

    For to see

    tality.

    Riddle of destiny, who can show

    t visit meant, or know

    thy errand here below?

    S Nature blind

    Checkd her hand, and changed her mind,

    Just

    A finistern  fault?

    Could sire,

    Or lackd shean fire

    (ith her nine moons long workings sickend)

    t stle limbs have quickend?

    Limbs so firm, to assure

    Life of ure:

    omans self in miniature!

    Limbs so fair, t supply

    (t cold imagery)

    tor to make Beauty by.

    Or did tern-eyed Fate descry

    t babe or mot die;

    So in mercy left tock

    And cut to save the shock

    Of young years he pain

    ate comes back again

    to t of wife,

    thenceforward drags a maimèd life?

    the economy of heaven is dark,

    And  clerks he mark,

    his, should fall,

    More brief than fly ephemeral

    t has his day; while shrivelld crones

    Stiffen o stocks and stones;

    And crabbèd use the conscience sears

    In sinners of an hundred years.

    Mottle, mothers kiss,

    Baby fond, t miss:

    Rites, wom does impose