monody
on a lady famed for her caprice.
how cold is that bosom which folly once fired,
how pale is that cheek where the rouge lately glisten'd;
how silent that tongue which the echoes oft tired,
how dull is that ear which to flatt'ry so listen'd!
if sorrow and anguish their exit await,
from friendship and dearest affection remov'd;
how doubly severer, maria, thy fate,
thou diedst unwept, as thou livedst unlov'd.
loves, graces, and virtues, i call not on you;