His broidered vestments torn in many a shred,
Griefs blazonry. Thou only with kind words
Canst soothe his sorrow, deaf to all beside.
But now I go hence to the gloom below.
Ye aged friends, farewell. Though ills surround,
Yet give your souls to joyaunce, while ye may,
For riches profit nothing to the dead.
[The Shade of Darius descends.
Chorus.
O many woes, both present and to come,