William Shakespeare: Twelfth Night

ACT II. 4. SCENE IV. A Room in the DUKE'S Palace. (continued)

VIOLA.
I think it well, my lord.

DUKE.
Then let thy love be younger than thyself,
Or thy affection cannot hold the bent:
For women are as roses, whose fair flower,
Being once display'd, doth fall that very hour.

VIOLA.
And so they are: alas, that they are so;
To die, even when they to perfection grow!

[Re-enter CURIO and CLOWN.]

DUKE.
O, fellow, come, the song we had last night:--
Mark it, Cesario; it is old and plain:
The spinsters and the knitters in the sun,
And the free maids, that weave their thread with bones,
Do use to chant it: it is silly sooth,
And dallies with the innocence of love
Like the old age.

CLOWN.
Are you ready, sir?

DUKE.
Ay; pr'ythee, sing. [Music]

CLOWN.
      SONG
    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!

DUKE.
There's for thy pains.

CLOWN.
No pains, sir; I take pleasure in singing, sir.

DUKE.
I'll pay thy pleasure, then.

CLOWN.
Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid one time or another.

DUKE.
Give me now leave to leave thee.