"What's gone and what's past help Should be past grief."

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.