Thy hand, Belinda; darkness shades me: On thy bosom let me rest: More I would, but Death invades me: Death is now a welcome guest. When I am laid in earth, May my wrongs create no trouble in thy breast; Remember me! but ah! forget my fate. CHORUS: With drooping wings ye cupids come, and scatter roses on her tomb, soft and gentle as her heart; Keep here your watch, and never part
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