116. Let me not to the marriage of true minds That looks on tempests and is never shaken ; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come; Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved. 119. What potions have I drunk of Siren tears, O benefit of ill! now I find true That better is by evil still made better; And ruin'd love, when it is built anew, Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater. And gain by ill thrice more than I have spent. SONGS. A MORNING SONG FOR IMOGEN. [From Cymbeline.] Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings, And Phoebus 'gins arise, His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies; And winking Mary-buds begin SILVIA. [From The Two Gentlemen of Verona.] Who is Silvia? what is she, That all our swains commend her? Holy, fair and wise is she; The heaven such grace did lend her, That she might admired be. Is she kind as she is fair? For beauty lives with kindness. Love doth to her eyes repair, To help him of his blindness, And, being help'd, inhabits there. Then to Silvia let us sing, That Silvia is excelling; SIGH NO MORE, Ladies. [From Much Ado about Nothing.] Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, Sing no more ditties, sing no moe, A LOVER'S LAMENT. [From Twelfth Night.] Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypress let me be laid; Fly away, fly away, breath; I am slain by a fair cruel maid. 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 strown; 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 lover never find my grave, ARIEL'S SONG. [From The Tempest.] Where the bee sucks, there suck I: There I couch when owls do cry. After summer merrily. Merrily, merrily, shall I live now Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. A SEA DIRGE. [From The Tempest.] Full fathom five thy father lies; But doth suffer a sea-change Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell : Ding-dong. Hark! now I hear them,-Ding-dong, bell. VOL. I. IN THE GREENWOOD. [From As You Like It.] Under the greenwood tree Unto the sweet bird's throat, No enemy But winter and rough weather. Who doth ambition shun And pleased with what he gets, Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather. WINTER. [From Love's Labour's Lost.] When icicles hang by the wall And Dick the shepherd blows his nail And milk comes frozen home in pail, Tu-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. When all aloud the wind doth blow |