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Shakespeare, William, 1564-1616

"Shakespeare's First Folio"

You haue your wish: my will is euen this,
That presently you hie you home to bed:
Thou subtile, periur'd, false, disloyall man:
Think'st thou I am so shallow, so conceitlesse,
To be seduced by thy flattery,
That has't deceiu'd so many with thy vowes?
Returne, returne, and make thy loue amends:
For me (by this pale queene of night I sweare)
I am so farre from granting thy request,
That I despise thee, for thy wrongfull suite;
And by and by intend to chide my selfe,
Euen for this time I spend in talking to thee
Pro. I grant (sweet loue) that I did loue a Lady,
But she is dead
Iu. 'Twere false, if I should speake it;
For I am sure she is not buried
Sil. Say that she be: yet Valentine thy friend
Suruiues; to whom (thy selfe art witnesse)
I am betroth'd; and art thou not asham'd
To wrong him, with thy importunacy?
Pro. I likewise heare that Valentine is dead
Sil. And so suppose am I; for in her graue
Assure thy selfe, my loue is buried
Pro. Sweet Lady, let me rake it from the earth
Sil. Goe to thy Ladies graue and call hers thence,
Or at the least, in hers, sepulcher thine
Iul. He heard not that
Pro. Madam: if your heart be so obdurate:
Vouchsafe me yet your Picture for my loue,
The Picture that is hanging in your chamber:
To that ile speake, to that ile sigh and weepe:
For since the substance of your perfect selfe
Is else deuoted, I am but a shadow;
And to your shadow, will I make true loue
Iul.


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