WEEP with me all you that read

    This little story；

    And know for whom a tear you shed

    Death's self is sorry.

    'Twas a child that so did thrive

    In grace and feature

    As Heaven and Nature seem'd to strive

    Which own'd the creature.

    Years he number'd scarce thirteen

    When Fates turn'd cruel

    Yet three fill'd zodiacs had he been

    The stage's jewel；

    And did act （what now we moan）

    Old men so duly

    As sooth the Parcae thought him one

    He play'd so truly.

    So by error to his fate

    They all consented；

    But viewing him since alas¹ too late！

    They have repented²；

    And have sought to give new birth

    In baths to steep him；

    But being so much too good for earth

    Heaven vows³ to keep him.

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