Without my fair, my friend, my lovely wife?
Hope! cheerful hope! to distant climes is fled,
And Nature mourns the fair Cordelia dead.
D. But can thy tears re-animate the earth,
Or give to sordid dust a second birth?
Mistaken mortal! learn to bear the ill,
Nor let that canker, grief, thy pleasures kill.
No more in Sorrow's sable garb array'd,
Still [mourn] thy lov'd, thy lost Cordelia dead.
T. Can I forget the fairest of her kind,