Yet for our sport, we fawn and flatter both,

To pass the time when nothing else can please, And train them on to yield by subtle oath,

The sweet content that gives such humour ease; And then we say, when we their follies try, To play with fools, oh, what a fool was I!

MAY NEVER WAS THE MONTH OF LOVE.

From Morley's "Ballets," 1595,

MAY never was the month of love,

For May is full of flowers;

But rather April wet by kind,

For love is full of showers.

With soothing words, enthralling souls,
She claims in servile hands,
Her eye in silence hath a speech,
Which eye best understands.

Her little sweet hath many sours,
Short hap immortal harms,
Her loving looks are murdering darts,
Her songs bewitching charms.

Like winter rose, and summer ice,

Her joys are still untimely,
Before her, hope-behind remorse,

Fair first, in fine unseemly.

Plough not the seas, sow not the sands,

Leave off your idle pain,

Seek other mistress for your mind,

Love's service is in vain.

ROSALIND'S COMPLAINT.

THOMAS LODGE, born 1556, died 1625.

LOVE in my bosom like a bee,

Doth suck his sweet;

Now with his wings he plays with me,

Now with his feet;

Within mine eyes he makes his nest,

His bed amidst my tender breast,

My kisses are his daily feast,
And yet he robs me of my rest:
Ah! wanton, will you?

And if I sleep, then pierceth he
With pretty slight,

And makes his pillow of my knee,

The live long night;

Strike I the lute, he tunes the string,

He music plays, if I but sing;

He lends me every lovely thing,

Yet cruel, he my heart doth sting:
Ah! wanton, will you?

B

From "Much Ado About Nothing," Act II., Scene iii. This song is sung by Balthazar and affirmed by Don Pedro to be "By my troth, a good song."

HARK! HARK! THE LARK!

WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE.

HARK! hark! the lark at Heaven's gate sings,
As Phoebus 'gins arise,

His steeds to water at those springs,

On chaliced flowers that lies,

And winking May-buds begin

To ope their golden eyes;

With every thing that pretty bin:

My lady sweet arise ;

Arise, arise.

From Cymbeline-sung by Cloten's musicians under the windows of Imogen's

chamber.

TAKE, OH TAKE, THOSE LIPS AWAY!

WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE.

TAKE, oh take, those lips away,

That so sweetly were forsworn!
And those eyes, the break of day,
Lights that do mislead the morn;
But my kisses bring again,
Seals of love but seal'd in vain.

Hide, oh hide, those hills of snow,
Which thy frozen bosom bears!
On whose tops the pinks that grow
Are of those that April wears;
But first set my poor heart free,

Bound in those icy chains by thee.

'There is some doubt as to the authorship of this exquisite song. The first stanza is quoted in "Measure for Measure." Both of the stanzas appear in the "Bloody Brother, or Rollo, Duke of Normandy," by Beaumont and Fletcher. It does not follow, however, that any part of it is Shakspeare's because it is introduced in one of his plays. A note on this passage in Knight's edition. of Shakspeare's plays says, "The question arises, is this, song to be attributed to Shakspeare or Fletcher? Malone justly observes that all the songs introduced in our author's plays appear to have been his own composition. The idea in the line

'Seals of love, but sealed in vain,'

is found in the 142d sonnet. The image is also repeated in 'Venus and Adonis Weber, the editor of Beaumont and Fletcher, is of opinion that the first stanza was Shakspeare's and that Fletchor added the second. There is no evidence, we apprehend, internal or external, by which the question can be settled."

THE FOLLY OF LOVE.

From JOHN DOWLAND'S Second Book of Songs, 1600.

WHAT poor astronomers are they,
Take women's eyes for stars,

And set their thoughts in battle 'ray,
To fight such idle wars;

When in the end they shall approve,

'Tis but a jest drawn out of love.