O Charidas, what of the under world? Great darkness. And what of the resurrection? A lie. And Pluto? A fable; we perish utterly. CALLIMACHUS Vanish
I wept as I remembered how often you and I had tired the sun with talking and sent him down the sky. CALLIMACHUS Weep
And now that thou art lying, my dear old Carian guest, A handful of grey ashes, long, long ago at rest, Still are thy pleasant voices, thy nightingales awake; For Death, he taketh all away, but them he cannot take. CALLIMACHUS AwakePleasant
