THRENOS. Beauty, truth, and rarity, Grace in all simplicity. Here inclos'd in cinders lie. Death is now the phoenix' nest; Leaving no posterity:"Twas not their infirmity, It was married chastity. Truth may seem, but cannot be; To this urn let those repair For these dead birds sigh a prayer. WM SHAKESPEARE. 268 SONGS FROM THE PLAYS OF SHAKESPEARE. FROM THE TEMPEST. COME unto these yellow sands, (The wild waves whist) Foot it featly here and there: And, sweet sprites, the burden bear. Hark, hark! I hear The strain of strutting chanticlere Cry, cock-a-doodle-doo. FULL fathom five thy father lies; Into something rich and strange. Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell: Hark! now I hear them-ding-dong, bell. [Burden, Ding-dong. 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 I do fly, After summer, merrily: Merrily, merrily, shall I live now Under the blossom, that hangs on the bough. FROM TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. WHO is Silvia? what is she, That all our swains commend her? Holy, fair, and wise is she: The heavens such grace did lend her, That she might admired be. Is she kind, as she is fair? Love doth to her eyes repair, To help him of his blindness; And, being help'd, inhabits there. Then to Silvia let us sing, Upon the dull earth dwelling: FROM MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. FIRST FAIRY. You spotted snakes, with double tongue, Thorny hedge-hogs, be not seen; Newts, and blind-worms, do no wrong; Come not near our fairy queen: CHORUS. Philomel, with melody, Sing in our sweet lullaby; Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby; Never harm, nor spell nor charm, Come our lovely lady nigh; So, good night, with lullaby. SECOND FAIRY. Weaving spiders, come not here; Hence, you long-legg'd spinners, hence; Beetles black, approach not near; Worm, nor snail, do no offence. CHORUS. Philomel with melody, &c. FIRST FAIRY. Hence, away; now all is well: PUCK. Now the hungry lion roars, And the wolf behowls the moon; Whilst the scritch-owl, scritching loud, Puts the wretch, that lies in woe, In remembrance of a shroud. Now it is the time of night, That the graves, all gaping wide, Every one lets forth his sprite, In the church-way paths to glide: And we fairies that do run By the triple Hecat's team, Το sweep the dust behind the door. |