And shou'd you ask to know the End
Of her that once you call'd a Friend?
Whether of Pleurisies she dy'd,
Or in a parching Fever dry'd?
Or pale Consumption sure and slow?
Or Apoplexy's sudden Blow?
'Twas none of these — no common Dart,
That struck my unresisting Heart:
The dire Distemper you shall hear,
Then listen with attentive Ear.
Did you not, Ah! did you not say,
That you wou'd come the next fair Day
To  Dome? — rejoic'd to see
At once the Butterflies and me?
But now, Alas! (too late, I find)
The promis'd Joys of human Kind,
Inconstant as the flitting Wind:
You came not — That I need not tell.
But then, O then your  fell,
That fatal Day expecting you;
I swept my House, and din'd by Two,
Took off the Night-Cap from my Brow,
(O Pride!) but I repent it now:
(Ambitious her I lov'd to please)
And, Ah! too straitly lac'd my Stays;
Then silent sate 'twixt Hopes and Fears,
With beating Heart and list'ning Ears,
Till the shrill Clock had sounded four;
Then wretched  was no more:
Her Cheeks put on a death-like Hue,
Her Eye-balls bid this World Adieu:
And tho' untouch'd by  Dart,
She perish'd with a broken Heart.