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Lettered inside image: "27 | And then, where are we? where, LORENZO, then | Thy sports--thy pomps?--I grant thee, in a state | Not unambitious; in the ruffled shroud, | Thy parian tomb's triumphant arch beneath: | Has death his fopperies? then well may life | Put on her plume, and in her rainbow shine. | Ye well-array'd! ye lilies of our land! | Ye lilies male! who neither toil, nor spin, | As sister lilies might;--if not so wise | As Solomon, more sumptuous to the sight! | Ye delicate! who nothing can support, | Yourselves most insupportable! for whom | The winter rose must blow, the sun put on | A brighter beam in Leo, silky-soft | Favonius breathe still softer, or be chid; | And other worlds send odours, sauce, and song, | And robes, and notions framed in foreign looms! | O ye LORENZOS of our age! who deem | One moment unamused, a misery | Not made for feeble man; who call aloud | For every bauble, drivell'd o'er by sense, | For rattles and conceits of every cast, | For change of follies and relays of joy, | To drag your patience through the tedious length | Of a short winter's day--say--sages; say | Wit's oracles; say--dreamers of gay dreams; | How will you weather an eternal night, | Where such expedients fail? | *O treacherous conscience! while she seems to sleep | On rose and myrtle, lull'd with syren song;"; lower right: "inv & sc | WB"