[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!