The Widows' Tears; Or, Dirge Of Dorcas Poem Rhyme Scheme

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Come pity us all ye who see	A
Our harps hung on the willow tree	A
Come pity us ye passers by	B
Who see or hear poor widows' cry	B
Come pity us and bring your ears	C
And eyes to pity widows' tears	D
CHOR And when you are come hither	E
Then we will keep	F
A fast and weep	F
Our eyes out all together	E
	-
For Tabitha who dead lies here	G
Clean wash'd and laid out for the bier	G
O modest matrons weep and wail	H
For now the corn and wine must fail	H
The basket and the bin of bread	I
Wherewith so many souls were fed	I
CHOR Stand empty here for ever	E
And ah the poor	J
At thy worn door	K
Shall be relieved never	E
	-
Woe worth the time woe worth the day	L
That reft us of thee Tabitha	M
For we have lost with thee the meal	N
The bits the morsels and the deal	N
Of gentle paste and yielding dough	O
That thou on widows did bestow	O
CHOR All's gone and death hath taken	P
Away from us	Q
Our maundy thus	Q
Thy widows stand forsaken	P
	-
Ah Dorcas Dorcas now adieu	R
We bid the cruise and pannier too	R
Ay and the flesh for and the fish	S
Doled to us in that lordly dish	S
We take our leaves now of the loom	T
From whence the housewives' cloth did come	U
CHOR The web affords now nothing	V
Thou being dead	I
The worsted thread	I
Is cut that made us clothing	V
	-
Farewell the flax and reaming wool	W
With which thy house was plentiful	X
Farewell the coats the garments and	Y
The sheets the rugs made by thy hand	Z
Farewell thy fire and thy light	A2
That ne'er went out by day or night	A2
CHOR No or thy zeal so speedy	A
That found a way	L
By peep of day	L
To feed and clothe the needy	A
	-
But ah alas the almond bough	B2
And olive branch is wither'd now	B2
The wine press now is ta'en from us	Q
The saffron and the calamus	Q
The spice and spikenard hence is gone	C2
The storax and the cinnamon	P
CHOR The carol of our gladness	Q
Has taken wing	V
And our late spring	V
Of mirth is turn'd to sadness	Q
	-
How wise wast thou in all thy ways	Q
How worthy of respect and praise	Q
How matron like didst thou go drest	A
How soberly above the rest	A
Of those that prank it with their plumes	Q
And jet it with their choice perfumes	Q
CHOR Thy vestures were not flowing	V
Nor did the street	A
Accuse thy feet	A
Of mincing in their going	V
	-
And though thou here liest dead we see	Q
A deal of beauty yet in thee	Q
How sweetly shews thy smiling face	Q
Thy lips with all diffused grace	Q
Thy hands though cold yet spotless white	A
And comely as the chrysolite	A
CHOR Thy belly like a hill is	Q
Or as a neat	A
Clean heap of wheat	A
All set about with lilies	Q
	-
Sleep with thy beauties here while we	Q
Will shew these garments made by thee	Q
These were the coats in these are read	A
The monuments of Dorcas dead	A
These were thy acts and thou shalt have	D2
These hung as honours o'er thy grave	E2
CHOR And after us distressed	A
Should fame be dumb	U
Thy very tomb	T
Would cry out Thou art blessed	A

Robert Herrick

The Widows' Tears; Or, Dirge Of Dorcas Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

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