is dead.
Queen. Nor
earth to
me give
food, nor
heaven
light,
Sport and
repose
lock from
me day and
night, To
desperation
turn my
trust and
hope, An
anchor's
cheer in
prison be
my scope,
Each
opposite
that
blanks the
face of
joy Meet
what I
would have
well, and
it
destroy,
Both here
and hence
pursue me
lasting
strife,
If, once a
widow,
ever I be
wife! Ham.
If she
should
break it
now! King.
'Tis
deeply
sworn.
Sweet,
leave me
here
