POEM: DIRGE

    Ring out your bells, let mourning sed it ed, And faiteful fancy; From suc use men thus, Good Lord, deliver us.

    eep, neig  said t Love is dead:  is sor, blame. From so ungrateful fancy; From suc use men thus, Good Lord, deliver us.

    Let dirge be sung, and trentals rigomb ordainetress marble ; apainet;.quot; From so ungrateful fancy; From suc use men thus, Good Lord, deliver us.

    Alas! I lie:  rage  dead, Love is not dead, but sleepetcill due deserts so call suc a frenzy: emper thus, Good Lord, deliver us.