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THRENOS.

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FROM THE TEMPEST.

If thou sorrow he will weep;

Co-supremes and stars of love,
If thou wake, he cannot sleep :

As chorus to their tragic scene.
Thus of every grief in heart
He with thee doth bear thee part.
These are certain signs to know

Beauty, truth, and rarity,
Faithful friend from flattering foe.

Grace in all simplicity,

Here inclos'd in cinders lie. Let the bird of loudest lay,

Death is now the phænix' nest ; On the sole Arabian tree,

And the turtle's loyal breast Herald sad and trumpet be,

To eternity doth rest, To whose sound chaste wings obey.

Leaving no posterity : But thou shrinking harbinger,

'Twas not their infirmity, Foul pre-currer of the fiend,

It was married chastity.
Augur of the fever's end,
To this troop come thou not near.

Truth may seem, but cannot be ;

Beauty brag, but 'tis not she; From this session interdict

Truth and beauty buried be. Every fowl of tyrant wing,

To this urn let those repair Save the eagle, feather'd king:

That are either true or fair ;
Keep the obsequy so strict.

For these dead birds sigh a prayer.
Let the priest in surplice white,
That defunctive music can,
Be the death-divining swan,

SONGS FROM SHAKSPEARE'S PLAYS.
Lest the requiem lack his right.
And thou, treble-dated crow,

Come unto these yellow sands, That thy sable gender mak'st

And then take hands : With the breath thou giv’st and tak'st,

Court'sied when you have, and kiss'd, Mongst our mourners shalt thou go.

(The wild waves whist) Here the anthem doth commence :

Foot it featly here and there; Love and constancy is dead;

And, sweet sprites, the burden bear.

Hark, hark ! Phænix and the turtle fled

Bur. Bough, wowgh,

[dispersedly. In a mutual flame from hence.

The watch-dogs bark : So they lov’d, as love in twain

Bur. Bough, wowgh, Had the essence but in one ;

Hark, hark! I hear Two distincts, division none :

The strain of strutting chanticlere
Number there in love was slain.

Cry, Cock-a-doodle-doo.
Hearts removed, yet not asunder;
Distance, and no space was seen

Full fathom five thy father lies, 'Twixt the turtle and his queen ;

Of his bones are coral made ;

Those are pearls that were his eyes: But in them it were a wonder.

Nothing of him that can fade, So between them love did shine,

But doth suffer a sea-change, That the turtle saw bis right

Into something rich and strange. Flaming in the phænix sight:

Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell, Either was the other's mine.

Hark, now I hear them,—ding-dong, bell. Property was thus appallid,

[Burden, ding-dong. That the self was not the same ; Single nature's double name

Where the bee sucks, there lurk 1 : Neither two nor one was call'd.

In a cowslip's bell I lie :

There I couch when owls do cry. Reason, in itself confounded,

On the bats back I do fly,
Saw division grow together ;

After sunset, merrily:
To themselves yet either neither,
Simple were so well compounded,

Merrily, merrily, shall I live now,

Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.
That it cried, how true a twain,
Seemeth this concordant one !
Love hath reason, reason none,

Come away, come away, death,
If what parts can so remain.

And in sad cypress let me be laid ; Whereupon it made this threne

Fly away, fly away, breath; To the phenix and the dove,

I am slain by a fair cruel maid.

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FROM TWELFTH-NIGHT,

FROM THE MERCHANT OF VENICE.

Tell me, where is fancy bred,
Or in the heart, or in the head?
How begot, how nourished?
It is engender'd in the eyes,
With gazing fed ; and fancy dies
In the cradle where it lies:

Let us all ring fancy's knell. I'll begin it,- Ding dong, bell.

Ding dong, bell.

FROM AS YOU LIKE IT.

Under the greenwood tree,
Who loves to lie with me,
And tune his merry note

Unto the sweet bird's throat,
Come hither, come hither, come hither;

Here shall he see

No enemy,
But winter and rough weather.
Who doth ambition shun,
And loves to live i' the sun,

Seeking the food he eats,
And pleas’d with what he gets,
Come hither, come hither, come hither;

Here shall he see

No eneiny,
But winter and rough weather.

My shroud of white, stuck all with yew,

O, prepare it;
My part of death no one so true

Did share it.
Not a flower, not a flower sweet,
On my black coffin let there be strewn ;

Not a friend, not a friend greet
My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown :
A thousand, thousand sighs to save,

Lay me, O! where
Sad true-love never find my grave,

To weep there.

FROM ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
Come thou monarch of the vine,
Plumpy Bacchus, with pink eyne;
In thy vats our cares be drown'd,
With thy grapes our hairs be crown'd,
Cup us till the world go round,
Cup us till the world go round!
FROM LOVE'S LA BOUR's Lost.

Spring.
When daisies pied, and violets blue,

And lady-smocks all silver-white,
And cuckow-buds of yellow hue,

Do paint the meadows with delight,
The cuckow then, on every tree,
Mocks marry'd men, for thus sings be,

Cuckow;
Cuckow, cuckow,-0 word of fear,
Unpleasing to a marry'd ear!
When shepherd's pipe on oaten straws,

And merry larks are plowmen's clocks,
When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws,

And maidens bleach their summer smocks,
The cuckow then, on every tree,
Mocks marry'd men, for thus sings he,

Cuckow;
Cuckow, cuckow,- word of fear,
Unpleasing to a marry'd ear!

Winter.
When icicles hang by the wall,

And Dick the shepherd blows his nail,
And Tom bears logs into the hall,

And milk comes frozen home in pail,
When blood is nipt, and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,

To-who;
Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
When all aloud the wind doth blow,

And coughing drowns the parson's saw,
And birds sit brooding in the snow,

And Marian's nose looks red and raw,
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,
Then nightly sing he staring owl,

To-who;
Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

holly!

Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind

As man's ingratitude ;
Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because thou art not seen,

Although thy breath be rude.
Heigli ho! sing, heigh ho! unto the green
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly!

Then, heigh ho! the holly!
This life is most jolly.
Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
Thon dost not bite so nigh

As benefits forgot :
Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp

As friend remember'd not.
Heigh ho! sing, &c.

9

Why should this a desert be ?

For it is unpeopled ? No; Tongues I'll hang on every tree,

That shall civil sayings show. Some, how brief the life of man

Runs his erring pilgrimage ; That the stretching of a span

Buckles in his sum of age. Some, of violated vows

"Twixt the souls of friend and friend : But upon the fairest boughs,

Or at every sentence end,

A DIRGE.

Will I Rosalinda write ;

And with leaves and flowers do cover Teaching all that read, to know

The friendless bodies of unburied men. This quintescence of every sprite

Call unto his funeral dole Heaven would in little show.

The ant, the field-mouse, and the mole, Therefore heaven nature charg'd,

To raise him hillocks that shall keep him warm, That one body should be fill'd

And (when gay tombs are robb’d) sustain no harm ; With all graces wide enlarg'd :

But keep the wolf far thence, that's foe to men, Nature presently distillid

For with his nails he'll dig them up again. Helen's cheek, but not her heart;

Cleopatra's majesty : Atalanta's better part;

Hark, now every thing is still ; Sad Lucretia's modesty.

The screech-owl, and the whistler shrill, Thus Rosalind of many parts

Call upon our dame aloud, By heavenly synod was devis'd ;

And bid her quickly d'on her shroud. Of many faces, eyes, and hearts,

Much ye had of land and rent ; To have the touches dearest priz'd.

Your length in clay now's competent. Heaven would that she these gifts should have,

A long war disturb’d the mind: And I to live and die her slave.

Here the perfect peace is signed.

Of what is't fools make such vain keeping ?
FROM CYMBELINE.

Sin, their conception ; their birth, weeping : Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,

Their life, a general mist of error,
And Phæbus 'gins arise,

Their death, a hideous storm of terror.
His steeds to water at those springs

Strew the hair with powder sweet,
On chalic'd flowers that lies;

D'on clean linen, bathe the feet:
And winking Mary-buds begin

And (the foul fiend more to check)
To ope their golden eyes;

A crucifix let bless the neck.
With every thing that pretty bin;

'Tis now full tide 'tween night and day:
My lady sweet, arise ;

End the groan, and come away.
Arise, arise !

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BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.

FROM THE ELDER BROTRER.

:

Guid. Fear no more the heat o' the sun,

Nor the furious winter's rages;
Thou thy worldiy task hast done,

Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages :
Both golden lads and girls all must,

As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.
Arv. Fear no more the frown o' the great,

Thou art past the tyrant's stroke ;
Care no more to clothe, and eat;

To thee the reed is as the oak :
The sceptre, learning, physic, must

All follow this and come to dust.
Guid. Fear no more the lightning-flash,
Aru. Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone ;
Guid. Fear not slander, censure rash;
Aru. Thou hast finish'd joy and moan :
Both. All lovers young, all lovers must

Consign to thee and come to dust.
Guid. No exorciser harm thee!
Arv. Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
Guid. Ghost unlaid forbear thee!
Aru. Nothing ill come near thee!
Both. Quiet consummation have ;

And renowned be thy grave!

Beauty clear and fair,

Where the air
Rather like a perfume dwells,

Where the violet and the rose

Their blue veins in blush disclose,
And come to honour nothing else :
Where to live near,

And planted there,
Is to live, and still live new ;

Where to gain a favour is

More than light, perpetual bliss,
Make me live by serving you.
Dear, again back recall

To this light,
A stranger to himself and all;

Both the wonder and the story

Shall be yours, and eke the glory:
I am your servant, and your thrall.

FROM THE MAID'S TRAGEDY.
Asp. Lay a garland on my hearse,

Of the dismal yew ;
Maidens willow branches bear;

Say, I died true :
My love was false, but I was firm

From my hour of birth.
Upon my buried body lie

Lightly, gentle earth!

JOHN WEBSTER.

A DIRGE.

Call for the Robin-red-breast, and the wren,
Since o'er shady groves they hover,

FROM ROLLO.

FROM THE LITTLE FRENCH LAWYER.

FROM THE CAPTAIN.

'Tis a grave,

W

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Dula. I could never have the pow'r
To love one above an hour,

Take, oh, take those lips away,
But my heart would prompt mine eye

That so sweetly were forsworn,
On some other man to fly:

And those eyes, the break of day,
Venus, fix thou mine eyes fast,

Lights that do mislead the morn ;
Or if not, give me all that I shall see at last.

But my kisses bring again,
Seals of love, tho' seal'd in vain.

Hide, oh, hide those hills of snow,
This way, this way, come and hear,

Which thy frozen bosom bears, You that hold these pleasures dear;

On whose tops the pinks that grow Fill your ears with our sweet sound,

Are yet of those that April wears; Whilst we melt the frozen ground.

But first set my poor heart free, This way come; make haste, oh,

fairi

Bound in those icy chains by thee.
Let your clear eyes gild the air;
Come, and bless us with your sight;

1. Tell me, dearest, what is love! This way, this way, seek delight!

2. 'Tis a lightning from above;

'Tis an arrow, 'tis a fire, FROM VALENTINIAN.

'Tis a boy they call Desire. Hear ye, ladies that despise,

Both. What the mighty love has done ;

Gapes to have Fear examples, and be wise :

Those poor fools that long to prove. Fair Calista was a nun;

1. Tell me more, are women true! Leda, sailing on the stream To deceive the hopes of man,

2. Yes, some are, and some as you. Love accounting but a dream,

Some are willing, some are strange, Doated on a silver swan;

Since you men first taught to change.

Both. And till troth
Danaë, in a brazen tower,

Be in both,
Where no love was, lov'd a shower.

All shall love, to love anew.
Hear ye, ladies that are coy,

1. Tell me more yet, can they grieve? What the mighty love can do;

2. Yes, and sicken sore, but live: Fear the fierceness of the boy;

And be wise, and delay, The chaste moon he makes to wooe :

When you men are as wise as they. Vesta, kindling holy fires,

Both.

Then I see, Circled round about with spies,

Faith will be,
Never dreaming loose desires,

Never till they both believe.
Doating at the altar dies ;
Ilion, in a short hour, higher

FROM THE NICE VALOUR, OR THE PASSIONATE
He can build, and once more fire.

Hence, all you vain delights,

As short as are the nights
Care-charming Sleep, thou easer of all woes,
Brother to Death, sweetly thyself dispose

Wherein you spend your folly!
On this afflicted prince: fall like a cloud,

There's nought in this life sweet, In gentle showers; give nothing that is loud,

If man were wise to see't, Or painful to his slumbers ; easy, sweet,

But only melancholy; And as a purling stream, thou sou of night,

Oh, sweetest melancholy ! Pass by his troubled senses; sing his pain,

Welcome, folded arms, and fixed eyes, Like hollow murmuring wind, or silver rain.

A sigh that piercing mortifies, Into this prince gently, oh, gently slide,

A look that's fasten'd to the ground, And kiss him into slumbers like a bride!

A tongue chain'd up, without a sound !

Fountain heads and pathless groves, God Lyæus, ever young,

Places which pale passion loves! Ever honour'd, ever sung;

Moonlight walks, when all the fowls Stain'd with blood of lusty grapes,

Are warmly hous'd, save bats and owls! In a thousand lusty shapes,

A midnight bell, a parting groan!

These are the sounds we feed upon ; Dance upon the mazer's brim,

Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley: In the crimson liquor swim;

Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy.
From thy plenteous hand divine
Let a river run with wine.

FROM A MASQUE,
God of youth, let this day here

Shake off your heavy trance,
Enter neither care nor fear!

And leap into a dance,

MADMAN.

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Such as no mortals use to tread,

And Jive! Therefore on this mould, Fit only for Apollo

Lowly do I bend my knee, To play to, for the moon to lead,

In worship of thy deity. And all the stars to follow !

Deign it, goddess, from my hand, On, blessed youths! for Jove doth pause,

To receive whate'er this land Laying aside his graver laws

From her fertile womb doth send For this device:

Of her choice fruits; and but lend And at the wedding such a pair,

Belief to that the Satyr tells : Each dance is taken for a pray'r,

Fairer by the famous wells,
Each song a sacrifice.

To this present day ne'er grew,
Solo.

Never better nor more true.
More pleasing were those sweet delights,

Here be grapes, whose lusty blood If ladies mov'd as well as knights;

Is the learned poets' good, Run every one of you, and catch

Sweeter yet did never crown A nymph, in honour of this match,

The head of Bacchus ; nuts more brown And whisper boldly in her ear,

Than the squirrel whose teeth crack 'em; Jove will but laugh, if you forswear!

Deign, oh, fairest fair, to take 'em.

For these black-ey'd Driope
Chorus.

Hath often-times commanded me
And this day's sins, he doth resolve,

With my clasped knee to clime: That we his priests should all absolve.

See how well the lusty time Ye should stay longer if we durst:

Hath deck'd their rising cheeks iu red, Away! alas, that he that first

Such as on your lips is spread. Gave time wild wings to fly away,

Here be berries for a queen, Hath now no power to make him stay!

Some be red, some be green ; But tho' these games must needs be play'd, These are of that luscious meat, I would this pair, when they are laid,

The great god Pan himself doth eat : And not a creature nigh 'em,

All these, and what the woods can yield, Could catch his scythe as he doth pass,

The hanging mountain, or the field, And cut his wings, and break his glass,

I freely offer, and ere long And keep him ever by 'em.

Will bring you more, more sweet and strong; Peace and silence be the guide

Till when humbly leave I take, To the man, and to the bride!

Lest the great Pan do awake, If there be a joy yet new

That sleeping lies in a deep glade, In marriage, let it fall on you,

Under a broad beech's shade : That all the world may wonder!

I must go, I must run
If we should stay, we should do worse,

Swifter than the fiery-sun.
And turn our blessing to a curse,
By keeping you asunder.

River God. What pow'rful charms my streams do
Back again unto their spring,

(bring With such force, that I their God, FLETCHER,

Three times striking with my rod,
Could not keep them in their ranks!

My fishes shoot into the banks ;
Satyr. Thorough yon same bending plain

There's not one that stays and feeds, That flings his arms down to the main,

All have hid them in the weeds. And thro' these thick woods have I run,

Here's a mortal almost dead, Whose bottom never kiss'd the sun

Fall'n into my river-head, Since the lusty spring began,

Hallow'd so with many a spell, All to please my master Pan,

That till now none ever fell. Have I trotted without rest

'Tis a female young and clear, To get him fruit; for at a feast

Cast in by some ravisher. He entertains, this coming night,

See upon her breast a wound, His paramour, the Syrinx bright.

On which there is no plaister bound, But, behold a fairer sight!

Yet she's warm, her pulses beat, By that heav'nly form of thine,

'Tis a sign of life and heat. Brightest fair, thou art divine,

If thou be'st a virgin pure, Sprung from great immortal race

I can give a present cure: Of the gods; for in thy face

Take a drop into thy wound, Shines more awful majesty,

From my watery locks, more round Than dull weak mortality

Than orient pearl, and far more pure Dare with misty eyes behold,

Than unchaste flesh may endure.

FROM THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERDESS.

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