Tired with all these, for restful death I cry

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 unhappily forsworn
And gilded honour shamefully misplac'd
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted
And right perfection wrongfully disgrac'd
And strength by limping sway disabled
And art made tongue-tied by authority
And folly—doctor-like—controlling skill
And simple truth miscall'd simplicity
And captive good attending captain ill
Tir'd with all these, from these would I be gone
Save that, to die, I leave my love alone



Credits
Writer(s): Pawel Jan Mykietyn, William (dramat) Shakespeare
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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