Herbs, flowers, herblets

Cymbeline, [4.2.284-291]. Belarius. “Here’s a few flow’rs; but ’bout midnight, more./ The herbs that have on them cold dew o’ th’ night/ Are strewings fitt’st for graves. Upon their faces./ You were as flow’rs, now wither’d; even so/ These herblets shall, which we upon you strew./ Come on, away; apart upon our knees./ The ground that gave them first has them again,/ Their pleasures here are past, so is their pain.”


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