WHO lets it hop a little from her hand, Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves, And with a silk thread plucks it back again, So loving-jealous of his liberty.
ROMEO JULIET I would I were thy bird.
Sweet, so would I: Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing. Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow,
Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast! Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest! Hence will I to my ghostly father’s cell, His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell.