God rest you, merry gentlemen, and keep you in your mirth!
Was ever kingdom turned so soon to ashes, blood, and earth?
'Twixt the summer and the snow--seeding-time and frost
Arms and victual, hope and counsel, name and country lost!
Singing:-Let down by the foot and the head
Shovel and smooth it all!
So do we bury a Nation dead
And who shall be next to fall, good sirs,
With your good help to fall?
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