L ament, my soul, lament; thy loss is deep,
A nd all that Sion love sit down and weep,
M ourn, oh ye virgins, and let sorrow be
E ach damsel's dowry, and (alas, for me!)
N e'er let my sobs and sighings have an end
T ill I again embrace my ascended friend;
A nd till I feel the virtue of his life
T o consolate me, and repress my grief:
I nfuse into my heart the oil of gladness
O nce more, and by its strength remove that sadness
N ow pressing down my spirit, and restore
F ully that joy I had in him before;
O f whom a word I fain would stammer forth,
R ather to ease my heart than show his worth:
H is worth, my grief, which words too shallow are
I n demonstration fully to declare,
S ighs, sobs, my best interpreters now are.
E nvy begone; black Momus quit the place;
N e'er more, Zoilus, show thy wrinkled face,
D raw near, ye bleeding hearts, whose sorrows are
E qual with mine; in him ye had like share.
A dd all your losses up, and ye shall see
R emainder will be nought but woe is me.
E ndeared lambs, ye that have the white stone,
D o know full well his name--it is your own.
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