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As gouts fall in Saint Mungo's dripping aisle, Near which the grave is dug that shall receive her.

That is her grey-hair'd father, so bow'd down; And those her brothers walking by his side.

Then all the kindred walking, two and two.

But who is he that follows after all, In mourner's cloak so muffled to the eyes? He walks alone, not mated like the rest; And yet, methinks, his gait and motion say The greatest weight of grief falls to his share.

Where goest thou, Claude? (Endeavouring to hold him.)

Prevent me not. Shall mourning weeds alone Have privilege, and sorrow be debarr'd.