Weep not fer me when I be dead; keep no sad vigils round me bed.
Put me within' no cheerless tomb, but lay me where sweet flowers bloom.
The gloomy cypress I detest; reserve it for the mounful breast.
Leaving the world with sighs and tears; greiving oe'r fled and wasted years.
Some gayer senitment I crave, sunny chimes, to watch me grave.
Set near me head the gen'rous vine; let it's green branches oe'r me twine.
And fer the urn so opt displayed, stand thou a goblet 'neath thier shade.
When ripe the clustering fruit you see; then press the juice and drinks to me.