but you, O you,
So perfect and so peerless, are created
Of every creature’s best!
If I must die,
I will encounter darkness as a bride,
And hug it in mine arms.
I am a feather for each wind that blows.
Even so must I run on, and even so stop.
What surety of the world, what hope, what stay,
When this was now a king, and now is clay?
If you have tears, prepare to shed them now.
Friends, come hither:
I am so lated in the world, that I
Have lost my way for ever:
Nay, had she been true,
If heaven would make me such another world
Of one entire and perfect chrysolite,
I’d not have sold her for it.
O Imogen, Thou hast lost by this a kingdom.
- No, my lord; I have got two worlds by ‘t.
O mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O, stay and hear; your true love’s coming,
That can sing both high and low:
Trip no further, pretty sweeting;
Journeys end in lovers meeting,
Every wise man’s son doth know.