COME, heavy souls, oppressed with the weight Of crimes, and pangs, or want of your delight; Come, drown in Lethe's sleeply Lake, Whatever makes you ache; Drink healths from poisoned bowls, Breathe out your cares together with your souls; Cool death's a salve That all may have, There's no distinction in the grave. Lay down your loads before death's iron door; Sigh, and sigh out; groan once, and groan no more. |