Classic Poem

Beneath the Covert of a Grove,
The conscious Scene of all my Love,
Careless, and supinely lay'd,
I took my Lute, and Sung and Play'd
Of Love's soft Passion did I sing,
And Cupid ; Love's Almighty King;
When lo! a String, that would have spoke,
Beneath my Finger, sighing broke;
It broke, and said, methoughts, to me,
Think on thy own Mortality, —