Thy hand, Belinda, darkness shades me,
On thy bosom let me rest,
More I would, but Death invades me;
Death is now a welcome guest.
When I am laid, am laid in earth, May my wrongs create
No trouble, no trouble in thy breast;
Remember me, remember me, but ah! forget my fate.
Remember me, but ah! forget my fate.
From Shakespeare's The Merchant of Venice, 1596
Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you might fail of the knowing me:
it is a wise father that knows his own child.
Well, old man, I will tell you news of your son:
give me your blessing:
truth will come to light;
murder cannot be hid long;
a man's son may,
but at the length truth will out.