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Paris be it or Helen dying, Who dies soever, dies with pain. He that lacks breath and wind for sighing, His gall bursts on his heart; and then He sweats, God knows what sweat!—again, No man may ease him of his grief; Child, brother, sister, none were fain To bail him thence for his relief.

Death makes him shudder, swoon, wax pale, Nose bend, veins stretch, and breath surrender, Neck swell, flesh soften, joints that fail Crack their strained nerves and arteries slender.