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 filled with tears,
And clamours through the wild air flying.
Come, all sad and solemn shows
That are quick-eyed Pleasure’s foes;
We convent else but woes.
We convent else but woes.
THIRD QUEEN
This funeral path brings to your household’s grave.
Joy seize on you again; peace sleep with him.
SECOND QUEEN
And this to yours.
FIRST QUEEN
Yours this way. Heavens lend
A thousand differing ways to one sure end.
THIRD QUEEN
This world’s a city full of straying streets,
And death’s the market-place where each one meets.