THE MAD MAIDEN'S SONG.

165

THE MAD MAIDEN'S SONG.

GOOD-MORROW to the day so fair,

Good-morrow, sir, to you;

Good-morrow to mine own torn hair,
Bedabbled all with dew.

Good-morrow to this primrose, too;
Good-morrow to each maid

That will with flowers the tomb bestrew
Wherein my love is laid.

Ah, woe is me-woe, woe is me,
Alack and well-a-day!
For pity, sir, find out that bee
Which bore my love away.

I'll seek him in your bonnet brave;
I'll seek him in your eyes;
Nay, now I think they've made his grave
In the bed of strawberries.

I'll seek him there! I know ere this

The cold, cold earth doth shake him;

But I will go, or send a kiss

By you, sir, to awake him.

166

THE MAD MAIDEN'S SONG.

Pray hurt him not; though he be dead,
He knows well who do love him,
And who with green turfs rear his head,
And who so rudely move him.

He's soft and tender, pray take heed;
With bands of cowslips bind him,
And bring him home; but 'tis decreed
That I shall never find him.

R. Herrick.

MAD SONG.

167

MAD SONG.

"THE wild winds weep,

And the night is a-cold; Come hither, sleep,

And my griefs enfold!..
But lo! the morning peeps
Over the eastern steeps,

And the rustling beds of dawn
The earth do scorn.

Lo! to the vault

Of paved heaven, With sorrow fraught,

My notes are driven:

They strike the ear of Night,

Make weep the eyes of Day; They make mad the roaring winds And with tempests play.

Like a fiend in a cloud,

With howling woe After night I do crowd,

And with night do go;

I turn my back to the East

From whence comforts have increased;

For light doth seize my brain

With frantic pain."

W. Blake.

168

ARIEL'S SONG.

ARIEL'S SONG.

WHERE the bee sucks, there suck I;

In a cowslip's bell I lie;
There I couch when owls do cry;

On the bat's back do I fly

After sunset merrily:

Merrily, merrily shall I live now,

Under the blossom that hangs on the bough!

W. Shakespeare.

A FAIRY'S SONG.

OVER hill, over dale,

Thorough bush, thorough brier,
Over park, over pale,

Thorough flood, thorough fire,
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter than the moon's sphere;
And I serve the fairy queen,
To dew her orbs upon the green;
The cowslips tall her pensioners be;
In their gold coats spots you see;
These be rubies, fairy favours,
In those freckles live their savours:
I must go seek some dewdrops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.
W. Shakespeare.

THE FAIRY QUEEN.

169

THE FAIRY QUEEN.

COME follow, follow me,
You, fairy elves that be:
Which circle on the greene,

Come follow Mab your queene.
Hand in hand let's dance around,
For this place is fairye ground.

When mortals are at rest,
And snoring in their nest;
Unheard, and unespy'd,
Through key-holes we do glide;
Over tables, stools, and shelves,
We trip it with our fairy elves.

Upon a mushroome's head
Our table-cloth we spread;
A grain of rye, or wheat,
Is manchet, which we eat;
Pearly drops of dew we drink,
In acorn cups fill'd to the brink.

The brains of nightingales,
With unctuous fat of snailes,
Between two cockles stew'd,
Is meat that's easily chew'd;

Tailes of wormes, and marrow of mice,
Do make a dish that's wondrous nice.