Excuse me, sirs, I pray—I can't yet speak—I'm crying now—and have been all the week."'Tis not alone this mourning suit," good masters:"I've that within"—for which there are no plasters!Pray, would you know the reason why I'm crying?The Comic Muse, long sick, is now a-dying!And if she goes, my tears will never stop;For as a player, I can't squeeze out one drop:I am undone, that's all—shall lose my bread—I'd...
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