Internet Shakespeare Editions

Author: William Shakespeare
Editor: Hardy M. Cook
Not Peer Reviewed

Lucrece (Quarto, 1594)


The little birds that tune their mornings ioy,
Make her mones mad, with their sweet melodie,
"For mirth doth search the bottome of annoy,
1110"Sad soules are slaine in merrie companie,
"Griefe best is pleas'd with griefes societie;
"True sorrow then is feelinglie suffiz'd,
"When with like semblance it is simpathiz'd.

"Tis double death to drowne in ken of shore,
1115"He ten times pines, that pines beholding food,
"To see the salue doth make the wound ake more:
"Great griefe greeues most at that wold do it good;
"Deepe woes roll forward like a gentle flood,
Who being stopt, the boūding banks oreflowes,
1120 Griefe dallied with, nor law, nor limit knowes.

You mocking Birds (quoth she) your tunes intombe
Within your hollow swelling feathered breasts,
And in my hearing be you mute and dumbe,
My restlesse discord loues no stops nor rests:
1125"A woefull Hostesse brookes not merrie guests.
Ralish your nimble notes to pleasing eares,
"Distres likes dūps whē time is kept with teares.