BLOW, BLOW, THOU WINTER WIND 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 Though thou the waters warp, Thy sting is not so sharp As friend remembered not. Heigh ho! sing heigh ho! FEAR NO MORE THE HEAT O' THE SUN FEAR no more the heat o' the sun Nor the furious winter's rages; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Fear no more the frown o' the great, 5 1Ο 15 5 ΙΟ Fear no more the lightning flash; No exorciser harm thee! Nor no witchcraft charm thee! Quiet consummation have; HARK! HARK! THE LARK 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 ARIEL'S SONGS I COME unto these yellow sands, And then take hands: Court'sied when you have, and kiss'd, Foot it featly here and there; 15 20 5 And, sweet sprites, the burden bear. Burden. Hark! Hark! Bough, wough. The watch-dogs bark: Bough, wough. Hark, hark! I hear The strain of strutting chanticleer II Full fathom five thy father lies; Of his bones are coral made; Those are pearls that were his eyes: Burden. Ding-dong. Hark! now I hear them Ding-dong bell. III 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. ΤΟ 5 5 SONNETS XXIX WHEN, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings LXXIII That time of year thou mayst in me behold In me thou seest the twilight of such day Which by and by black night doth take away, Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by. This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong, To love that well which thou must leave ere long. CVI When in the chronicle of wasted time CXVI Let me not to the marriage of true minds Or bends with the remover to remove: O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark 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. I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd. |