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 Chor. This we will do, we'll daily come And offer tears upon thy tomb: And if that they will not suffice, Thou shall have souls for sacrifice. Sleep in thy peace, while we with spice perfume thee, And cedar wash thee, that no times consume thee.

Live, live thou dost, and shall; for why? Souls do not with their bodies die: Ignoble offsprings, they may fall Into the flames of funeral: Whenas the chosen seed shall spring Fresh, and for ever flourishing.

Chor. And times to come shall, weeping, read thy glory Less in these marble stones than in thy story. Trental, a dirge; but see Note. Cedar, oil of cedar.

Dear Perenna, prithee come And with smallage dress my tomb: Add a cypress sprig thereto, With a tear, and so Adieu. Smallage, water-parsley.