by William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616)

Tired with all these, for restful death...
Language: English 
Our translations:  ITA
Tired with all these, for restful death I cry,
As, to behold desert a beggar born,
And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity,
And purest faith unhappilly forsworn,
And gilded honour shamefully misplaced,
[And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted]1
And right perfection wrongfully disgraced,
And strength by limping sway disabled,
And art made tongue-tied by authority,
And folly, doctor-like, controlling skill,
And simple truth miscalled simplicity,
And captive good attending captain ill:
  [Tired with all these, from these would I be gone,
  Save that, to die, I leave my love alone.]2

Available sung texts:   ← What is this?

•   H. Eisler 

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1 omitted by Eisler.
2 Eisler: "Tired with all these, for restful death I cry."

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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 14
Word count: 89