Withered bough

The Winter’s Tale, [5.3.129-136]. Paulina. “There’s time enough for that;/ Least they desire upon this push to trouble/ Your joys with like relation. Go together,/ You precious winners all; your exaltation/ Partake to everyone. I, an old turtle,/ Will wing me to some wither’d bough and there/ My mate, that’s never to be found again,/ Lament till I am lost.”

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