Buds

Cymbeline, [1.3.26-37]. Imogen. “Ere I could tell him/ How I would think on him at certain hours/ Such thoughts and such; or I could make him swear/ The shes of Italy should not betray/ Mine interest and his honor; or have charg’d him/ At the sixth hour of morn, at noon, at midnight,/ T’ encounter me with orisons, for them/ I am in heaven for him; or ere I could/ Give him that parting kiss which I had set/ Betwixt two charmind words, comes in my father,/ And like the tryannous breathing of the north/ Shakes all our buds from growing.”

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