Verse > Anthologies > Andrew Macphail, ed. > The Book of Sorrow
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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