Alas! that all we lov’d of him should be,
       But for our grief, as if it had not been,
       And grief itself be mortal! Woe is me!
       Whence are we, and why are we? of what scene
       The actors or spectators? Great and mean
       Meet mass’d in death, who lends what life must borrow.
       As long as skies are blue, and fields are green,
       Evening must usher night, night urge the morrow,
Month follow month with woe, and year wake year to sorrow.

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