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4 A Song from Shakespeare's Cymbeline

Sung by Guiderus and Arviragus over Fidele, supposed to be dead


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To fair Fidele's grassy tomb
Soft maids and village hinds shall bring
Each opening sweet of earliest bloom,
And rifle all the breathing spring.
No wailing ghost shall dare appear
To vex with shrieks this quiet grove;

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But shepherd lads assemble here,
And melting virgins own their love.
No withered witch shall here be seen,
No goblins lead their nightly crew;
The female fays shall haunt the green,
And dress thy grave with pearly dew!
The red-breast oft at evening hours
Shall kindly lend his little aid:
With hoary moss and gathered flowers,
To deck the ground where thou art laid.
When howling winds and beating rain
In tempests shake the sylvan cell,
Or midst the chase on every plain,
The tender thought on thee shall dwell.
Each lonely scene shall thee restore,
For thee the tear be duly shed:

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Beloved, till life could charm no more,
And mourned, till Pity's self be dead.