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 alas too late！
They have repented；
And have sought to give new birth
In baths to steep him；
But being so much too good for earth
Heaven vows to keep him.