William Shakespeare. 1564-1616
134. Dirge
1 min to read 101 words
COME away, come away, death, And in sad cypres let me be laid; Fly away, fly away, breath; I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, O prepare it! My part of death, no one so true Did share it.
Not a flower, not a flower sweet, On my black coffin let there be strown; Not a friend, not a friend greet My poor corse, where my bones shall be thrown: A thousand thousand sighs to save, Lay me, O, where Sad true lover never find my grave To weep there!
cypres] crape.
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William Shakespeare. 1564-1616
135. Under the Greenwood Tree
1 min to read 119 words
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