POEM: DIRGE
Ring out your bells, let mourning sed it ed, And faiteful fancy; From suc use men thus, Good Lord, deliver us.
eep, neig said t Love is dead: is sor, blame. From so ungrateful fancy; From suc use men thus, Good Lord, deliver us.
Let dirge be sung, and trentals rigomb ordainetress marble ; apainet;.quot; From so ungrateful fancy; From suc use men thus, Good Lord, deliver us.
Alas! I lie: rage dead, Love is not dead, but sleepetcill due deserts so call suc a frenzy: emper thus, Good Lord, deliver us.