Thomas Arne - Come Away, Death

Come away, come away, death
And in sad cypress let me be laid;
Fly away, fly away, breath;
I am slain by a fair cruel maid
My shroud of white, stuck all with yew
O prepare it!
My part of death, no one so true
Did share it

Not a flower, not a flower sweet
On my black coffin let there be strown;
Not a friend, not a friend greet
My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown:
A thousand, thousand sighs to save
Lay me, O where
Sad true lover never find my grave
To weep there!