"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, when my bones shall be thrown
A thousand sighs to save
Leave me, O where
Sad true lover never find my grave
To weep there"
- William Shakespeare "The Twelfth Night" Act II, Scene 4.
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