Poverty's the greatest curse,
Hither loves he to repair,
CHORUS OF PENITENT WOMEN.
Kindly art inclin'd,When the sons of frailty
A maiden;To the window the citizens went to explore;In splendour they lived, and with wealth as of yore
WHERE goest thou? Where?Miller's daughter so fair!
[Written on the occasion of the death, by drowning, of thePrince.]