When I am laid in earth, may my wrongs create
no trouble in thy breast!
Remember me—but ah! forget my fate.
She stabs herself on the funeral pile which is lighted.
With drooping wings, ye Cupids come,
and scatter roses on her tomb,
soft and gentle as her heart:
keep here your watch, and never, never part.
End of the opera.
—Henry Purcell, Dido and Aeneas (1689)