[PSEUDOLUS, spoken]
Gather around, handmaidens of sorrow

[MILES]
Sound the flute
Blow the horn
Pluck the lute
Forward mourn!

All Crete was at her feet
All Thrace was in her thrall
All Sparta loved her sweetness
And gaul . .

[PSEUDOLUS]
And Spain . .

[MILES]
And Greece . .

[PSEUDOLUS]
And Egypt . .

[MILES]
And Syria . .
[PSEUDOLUS]
And Mesopotamia . .

[MOURNERS]
All Crete was at her feet
All Thrace was in her thrall
Oh, why should such a blossom fall?

[MILES]
Speak the spells
Chant the charms
Toll the bells
Build the pyre!

[PSEUDOLUS, spoken]
I don't know about you, but I've suffered enough. On behalf of the body, I want to thank you for a lovely funeral

[MILES]
All Crete was at her feet
But I shall weep no more
I'll find my consolation as before
Among the simple pleasures of war!