Imatges de pÓgina
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WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

Fear no more the frown o' the great,
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke;
Care no more to clothe, and eat;
To thee the reed is as the oak:
The sceptre, learning, physic, must
All follow this, and come to dust.

Fear no more the lightning flash,
Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;
Fear not slander, censure rash;
Thou hast finished joy and moan:
All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee, and come to dust.

No exorciser harm thee!
Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
Ghost unlaid forbear thee!
Nothing ill come near thee!
Quiet consummation have;
And renowned be thy grave.

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WHEN to the sessions of sweet silent thought

I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,

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And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste:

Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow, For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,

And weep afresh love's long-since-cancelled woe,

And moan the expense of many a vanished sight.

Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er The sad account of fore-bemoanéd moan, Which I new pay as if not paid before. But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,

All losses are restored, and sorrows end.

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