Читать книгу The Complete Works of Shakespeare онлайн

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He stands aside, [climbing into a tree].

The King ent’reth [with a paper].

King. Ay me!

Ber. [Aside.] Shot, by heaven! Proceed, sweet Cupid, thou hast thump’d him with thy bird-bolt under the left pap. In faith, secrets!

King [Reads.]

“So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not

To those fresh morning drops upon the rose,

As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote

The night of dew that on my cheeks down flows;

Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright

Through the transparent bosom of the deep,

As doth thy face through tears of mine give light.

Thou shin’st in every tear that I do weep,

No drop but as a coach doth carry thee;

So ridest thou triumphing in my woe.

Do but behold the tears that swell in me,

And they thy glory through my grief will show.

But do not love thyself, then thou [wilt] keep

My tears for glasses, and still make me weep.

O queen of queens, how far dost thou excel

No thought can think, nor tongue of mortal tell.”

How shall she know my griefs? I’ll drop the paper.