PARIS Give me thy torch, boy. Hence, and stand aloof.

Yet put it out, for I would not be seen.

Under yond yew trees lay thee all along,

Holding thy ear close to the hollow ground,

So shall no foot upon the churchyard tread,

Being loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves,

But thou shalt hear it. Whistle then to me

As signal that thou hearest something approach.

Give me those flowers. Do as I bid thee, go.

PAGE TO PARIS [Aside.]

I am almost afraid to stand alone

Here in the churchyard, yet I will adventure.

[Retires. Paris strews the tomb with flowers.[

PARIS Sweet flower, with flowers thy bridal bed I strew—

O woe, thy canopy is dust and stones!—

Which with sweet water nightly I will dew,

Or wanting that, with tears distill’d by moans.

The obsequies that I for thee will keep

Nightly