Thou See'St Me, Lucia, This Year Droop; Three Zodiacs Fill'D More, I Shall Stoop; Let Crutches Then Provided Be To Shore Up My Debility: Then, While Thou Laugh'St, I'll Sighing Cry, A Ruin Underpropt Am I: Don Will I Then My Beadsman'S Gown; And When So Feeble I Am Grown As My Weak Shoulders Cannot Bear The Burden Of A Grasshopper; Yet With The Bench Of Aged Sires, When I And They Keep Termly Fires, With My Weak Voice I'll Sing, Or Say Some Odes I Made Of Lucia; Then Will I Heave My Wither'D Hand To Jove The Mighty, For To Stand Thy Faithful Friend, And To Pour Down Upon Thee Many A Benison.