96

97

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;
She excels each mortal thing
Upon the dull earth dwelling:
To her let us garlands bring.

SPRING

WHEN daisies pied and violets blue,
And lady-smocks all silver-white,
And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue

Do paint the meadows with delight,
The cuckoo then, on every tree,
Mocks married men; for thus sings he,
Cuckoo !

Cuckoo, cuckoo!-O word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear!

When shepherds pipe on oaten straws,

And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks,
When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws,
And maidens bleach their summer smocks,
The cuckoo then, on every tree,

Mocks married men; for thus sings he,
Cuckoo !

Cuckoo, cuckoo!-O word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear!

LULLABY

You spotted snakes with double tongue,
Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen;
Newts and blind-worms, do no wrong;
Come not near our fairy queen.

98

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.

Weaving spiders, come not here;

Hence, you long-legg'd spinners, hence!
Beetles black, approach not near;
Worm nor snail, do no offence.

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.

OPHELIA'S SONG

How should I your true love know

From another one?

By his cockle hat and staff,

And his sandal shoon.

He is dead and gone, lady,

He is dead and gone;

At his head a grass-green turf,

At his heels a stone.

White his shroud as the mountain snow,

Larded with sweet flowers,

Which bewept to the grave did go

With true-love showers.

99

100

ΙΟΙ

WHERE THE BEE SUCKS

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.

LOVE'S PERJURIES

ON a day, alack the day!

Love, whose month is ever May,

Spied a blossom passing fair

Playing in the wanton air;

Through the velvet leaves the wind,
All unseen, 'gan passage find;
That the lover, sick to death,

Wish'd himself the heaven's breath.

Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow;
Air, would I might triumph so!
But, alack, my hand is sworn

Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn:
Vow, alack, for youth unmeet;

Youth so apt to pluck a sweet.

Do not call it sin in me

That I am forsworn for thee:

Thou for whom e'en Jove would swear

Juno but an Ethiope were,

And deny himself for Jove,
Turning mortal for thy love.

ТАКЕ, О ТАКЕ

TAKE, O take those lips away
That so sweetly were forsworn,
And those eyes, the break of day,
Lights that do mislead the morn:

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.

Heigh ho! sing heigh ho! unto the green holly:
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:
Then, heigh ho! the holly!

This life is most jolly.

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
Thou 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 heigh ho! unto the green holly:
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly :
Then, heigh ho! the holly!

This life is most jolly.

104

DAWN SONG

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
To ope their golden eyes:
With everything that pretty bin,
My lady sweet, arise!
Arise, arise!

105

DIRGE OF LOVE

COME away, come away, Death,
And in sad cypres 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;