t._

Suppose the singing birds musicians,
The grass whereon thou tread'st the presence strew'd,
The flowers fair ladies.

_Richard II_, act i, sc. 3 (288).

(4) _Katharine._

When I am dead, good wench,
Let me be used with honour; strew me over
With maiden flowers, that all the world may know
I was a chaste wife to my grave.

_Henry VIII_, act iv, sc. 2 (167).

(5) _Ophelia_ (sings).

White his shroud as the mountain snow
Larded with sweet flowers,
Which bewept to the grave did go
With true-love showers.

_Hamlet_, act iv, sc. 5 (35).

(6) _Queen._

Whiles yet the dew's on ground, gather those flowers.

_Cymbeline_, act i, sc. 5 (1).

(7) _Song._

Hark! hark! the lark at Heaven's gate sings,
And Phoebus 'gins to rise,
His steeds to water at those springs
On chaliced flowers that lies.

_Ibid._, act ii, sc. 3 (21).

(8) _Arviragus._

With fairest flowers,
While summer lasts and I live here, Fidele,
I'll sweeten thy sad grave.

_Ibid._, act iv, sc. 2 (218).

(9) _Belarius._

Here's a few flowers; but 'bout midnight, more;
The herbs that have on them cold dew o' the night
Are strewings fitt'st for graves. Upon their faces.
You were as flowers, now withered; even so
These herblets shall, which we upon you strew.

_Ibid._ (283).

(10) _Juliet._

This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath,
May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet.

_Romeo and Juliet_, act ii, sc. 2 (121).

(11) _Titania._

An odorous chaplet of sweet summer-buds.

_Midsummer Night's Dream_, act ii, sc. 1 (110).

(12) _Friar Laurence._

I must up-fill this osier cage of ours
With baleful weeds, and precious-juiced flowers.
The earth that's Nature's mother is her tomb;
What is her burying grave that is her womb,
And from her womb children of divers kind
We sucking on her natural bosom find,
Many for many virtues excellent,
None but for some and yet all di