Song within by the Boy -

Beyond the malice of abusive fate
I now am grown, and in that state
My heart shall mourn the loss it has received,
When of its only joy it was bereaved;
The woods with echoes do abound,
And each of them returns the sound
Of my Amintor's name; alas, he's dead,
And with him all my joys are fled,
Willow, willow, willow, must I wear,
For sweet Amintor's dead, who was my dear.
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