OpheliaFleurs

O, what a noble mind is here o’erthrown! /
The courtier’s, soldier’s, scholar’s, eye, tongue, sword, /
Th’ expectancy and rose of the fair state, /
The glass of fashion and the mould of form, /
Th’ observ’d of all observers, quite, quite down! /

And I, of ladies most deject and wretched, / (F)
That suck’d the honey of his music vows, /
Now see that noble and most sovereign reason (F)
Like sweet bells jangled out of tune and harsh, /
That unmatch’d form and feature of blown youth
Blasted with ecstasy. / O, woe is me
T’ have seen what I have seen, see what I see. /

Larded all with sweet flowers;
Which bewept to the grave did not go
With true-love showers.