D. Begin, my Tyrsis; songs shall sooth our cares,
Allay our sorrows, and dispel our fears;
Shall glad thy heart, and bring its native peace,
And bid thy grief its weighty influence cease.
No more those tears of woe, dear shepherd, shed,
Nor ever mourn the lov'd Cordelia dead.
T. In vain, my Damon, urge thy fond request
To still the troubles of an anxious breast:
Cordelia's gone! and now what pain is life
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