Wood-leaves, weeds

Cymbeline, [4.2.388-394]. Imogen. “I’ll follow, sir. But first, an’t please the gods,/ I’ll hide my master from the flies, as deep. As these poor pickaxes can dig; and when/ With wild wood-leaves and weeds I ha’ strew’d his grave,/ And on it said a century of prayers,/ Such as I can, twice o’er, I’ll weep and sigh,/ And leaving so his service, follow you,/ So please you entertain me.”

Advertisements

%d bloggers like this: