Explore "The Fortunes of Perkin Warbeck" by Mary Shelley on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
So young to go Under the obscure, cold, rotting, wormy ground! To be nailed down into a narrow place; To see no more sweet sunshine; hear no more Blithe voice of living thing; muse not again Upon familiar thoughts, sad, yet thus lost-- How fearful! --SHELLEY.
-"Speak to me, Lady, sister, speak! your frozen glances frighten me; your fingers as I touch them, have no resistance or life. Dearest and best, do not desert me, speak but one word, my own White Rose."