O heat, dry up my brains! tears seven times salt, Burn out the sense and virtue of mine eye! By heaven, thy madness shall be paid with weight, Till our scale turn the beam. O rose of May! Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia!
O heavens! is ' t possible, a young maid’s wits Should be as mortal as an old man's life? Nature is fine in love, and where ' t is fine, It sends some precious instance of itself After the thing it loves.
Hadst thou thy wits, and didst persuade revenge,It could not move thus.
♪♪They bore him barefaced on the bier ;Hey non nonny, nonny, hey nonny ;And in his grave rain'd many a tear , Fare you well, my dove !♪♪
♪♪You must sing a -down, a - down,And you call him a-down-a, O how the wheel becomes it! It is the false steward, that stole his master's daughter,♪♪