There wait them ... Nay,
Doth one perchance ask what?
Shares in their old ancestral sepulchres.
Semi-Chor. B. [*]The sorrow of the house is borne to them
By my heart-rending wail.
Mine own the cries I pour;
Mine own the woes I weep,
Bitter and joyless, shedding truest tears
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From heart that faileth, even as they fall,