The Works of William Shakespeare, Volume 1

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G. Routledge, 1883 - 832 pages
 

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Page 643 - Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypress 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 corpse, 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.
Page 427 - Happy in this, she is not yet so old But she may learn ; happier than this, She is not bred so dull but she can learn ; Happiest of all is that her gentle spirit Commits itself to yours to be directed, As from her lord, her governor, her king. Myself and what is mine to you and yours Is now converted : but now I was the lord Of this fair mansion, master of my servants, Queen o'er myself ; and even now, but now, This house, these servants, and this same myself Are yours, my lord. I give them with...
Page 770 - Good morrow, Hubert. Hub. Good morrow, little prince. Arth. As little prince (having so great a title To be more prince) as may be. You are sad. Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier. Arth. Mercy on me! Methinks, nobody should be sad but I : Yet, I remember, when I was in France, Young gentlemen would be as sad as night, Only for wantonness. By my Christendom...
Page 475 - Blow, blow, thou winter wind ! Thou art not so unkind As man's ingratitude; Thy tooth is not so keen, Because thou art not seen, Although thy breath be rude. Heigh ho! sing, heigh ho! unto the green holly. Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly. Then, heigh ho, the holly! This life is most jolly. Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky...

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