Dirge of the Three Queens

Urns and odours bring away!
Vapours, sighs, darken the day!
Our dole more deadly looks than dying;

Balms and gums and heavy cheers,
Sacred vials fill’d with tears,
And clamours through the wild air flying!

Come, all sad and solemn shows,
That are quick-eyed Pleasure’s foes!
We convent naught else but woes.

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