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Thou whose injustice hath supplied the cause

That makes me quit the weary life I loathe,

As by this wounded bosoly thy victim I become,

Let not my death, if haply worth a tear,

Cloud the clear heaven that dwells in thy bright eyes;

I would not have thee expiate in aught

The crihter gaily ring

And prove my death to be thy festival

Fool that I aains by my untimely end

And now it is the ti Tantalus, co the cruel stone, come Tityus

With vulture, and heel Ixion come,

And come the sisters of the ceaseless toil;

And all into this breast transfer their pains,

And (if such tribute to despair be due)

Chant in their deepest tones a doleful dirge

Over a corse unworthy of a shroud

Let the three-headed guardian of the gate,

And all the eny of hell,

The doleful concert join: a lover dead

Methinks can have no fitter obsequies

Lay of despair, grieve not when thou art gone

Forth fros fortune to the cause that gave thee birth;

Then banish sadness even in the tomb