No more be done:
We should profane the service of the dead
To sing a requiem, arid such rest to her
As to peace-parted souls.

Lay her i' th' earth,
And from her fair and unpolluted flesh
May violets spring! I tell thee, churlish priest,
A minist'ring angel shall my sister be
When, thou liest howling.
Shakespeare, Hamlet.

1 chronicles more.:

26 November will remain a sad day