Lady. If Love be dead (and you aver it!) Tell me, Bard! where Love lies buried. Poet. Love lies buried where `twas born, Ah, faithless nymph! think it no scorn If in my fancy I presume To name thy bosom poor Love`s Tomb, And on that Tomb to read the line, Here lies a Love that once was mine, But took a chill, as I divine, And died at length of a decline.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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