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 where my bones shall be thrown:
A thousand [thousand] sighs to save,
Lay me, O, where
[Sad] true lover never find my grave
To weep there.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616)

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, where my bones shall be thrown:
A thousand, thousand2 sighs to save,
Lay me, O where
True lover never find my grave,
To weep there!

William Shakespeare (1564-1616)
Twelfth Night II: 4

Trip no further, pretty sweeting;
For Journeys end in lovers’ meeting,
Ev’ry wise man’s son doth know.

What is this love? ‘Tis not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;
What’s to come is still unsure.

And in delay there lies no plenty;
Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty;
Youth’s a stuff will not endure.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616)
Twelfth Night IV: 3

William Shakespeare (1564-1616)
Twelfth Night IV: 2

William Shakespeare (1564-1616)
Twelfth Night IV: 2

But when I came to man’s estate,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
‘Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gate,
For the rain it raineth every day.

But when I came, alas! to wive,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
By swaggering could I never thrive,
For the rain it raineth every day.

A great while ago the world begun,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
But that’s all one, our play is done,
And we’ll strive to please you every day.

Twelfth Night V: 1