Verse > Anthologies > Andrew Macphail, ed. > The Book of Sorrow
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Andrew Macphail, comp.  The Book of Sorrow.  1916.
 
IX. The Sadness of It
‘Come away, come away, death’
By William Shakespeare (1564–1616)
 
From ‘Twelfth Night’, Act II. Scene 4

  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,        5
        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;        10
  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,        15
        To weep there.
 
 
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