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WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE.

SONG.
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.
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.

SONNET.
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 teaves 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 ev'o Jove would swear
Juno but an Æthiop were;
And deny himself for Jove,
Turning mortal for thy love.

SONG OF FAIRIES.

Now the

hungry lion roars,

And the wolf behowls the moon, Whilst the heavy ploughman snores,

All with weary task foredone. Now the wasted brands do glow;

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, Eve one lets forth his spright,

In the churchway paths to glide; And we Fairies, that do run

By the triple Hecat's team,
From the presence of the sun,

Following darkness like a dream,
Now are frolic. Not a mouse
Shall disturb this hallow'd house;
I am sent with broom before
To sweep the dust behind the door.

WINTER, A SONG. WHEN icicles hang by the wall,

And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, And Tom bears logs into the hall,

And milk comes frozen home in pail;
When blood is nipt, and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
Tu-whit! tu-whoo!

A merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot,
When all aloud the wind doth blow,

And coughing drowns the parson's saw,
And birds sit brooding in the snow,

And Marian's nose looks red and raw;

When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
To-whit! tu-whoo !
A merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

A SONG ON FANCY. TELL me, where is fancy bred,

Or in the heart, or in the head ;
How begot, how nourished?

Reply, reply.
It is engender'd in the eyes;
With gazing fed ; and Fancy dies
In the cradle where it lies.

Let us all ring Fancy's knell:
P'll begin it. Ding dong bell.

ARIEL's SONG.: WHERE the bee sucks, there lurk I;

In a cowslip's bell I lie, There I couch when owls do cry ; On the bat's back I do fly, After sun-set merrily; Merrily, merrily shall I live now Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.

DIRGE. FEAR no more the heat of th' sun,

Nor the furious winter's rages;
Thou thy worldly task hast done, ,

Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages,
Golden lads and girls, all must,
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

Fear no more the frown o' th' great,

Thou art past the tyrant's stroke, Care no more to clothe and eat,

To thee the reed is as the oak. The sceptre, learning, physic, must All follow this, and come to dust. Fear no more the lightning flash,

Nor th' all-dreaded thunder stone; Fear no slander, censure rash,

Thou hast finish'd joy and moan.

SYMPATHIZING LOVE.

AS

S it fell upon a day

In the merry month of May, Sitting in a pleasant shade Which a grove of myrtles made; Beasts did leap, and birds did sing, Trees did grow, and plants did spring; Every thing did banish moan, Save the nightingale alone. She, poor bird, as all forlorn, Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn; And there sung the mournful'st ditty, That to hear it was great pity : Fie, fie, fie, now would she cry; Tereu, tereu, by and by; That to hear her so complain, Scarce I could from tears refrain; For her griefs, so lively shown, Made me think upon my own. Ah! (thought I) thou mourn'st in vain ; None takes pity on thy pain ; Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee, Ruthless bears, they will not cheer thee, King Pandion he is dead; All thy friends are lapp'd in lead; All thy fellow-birds do sing, Careless of thy sorrowing ;

Whilst as fickle fortune smiled,
Thou and I were both beguiled;
Every one that flatters thee,
Is no friend to misery.
Words are easy, like the wind,
Faithful friends are hard to find.
Every man will be thy friend
Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend :
But, if store of crowns be scant,
No man will supply thy want. ,
If that one bę prodigal,
Bountiful they will him call;
And with such-like flattering,
" Pity but he was a king."
If he be addict to vice,
Quickly him they will entice;
If to women he be bent,
They have him at commandment;
But if Fortune once do frown,
Then farewell his great renown:
They that fawn'd on him before
Use his company no more.
He that is thy friend indeed,
He will help thee at thy need;
If thou sorrow, he will weep,
If thou wake, he cannot sleep;
Thus, of every grief in heart,
He with thee doth bear a part.
These are certain sigas to know
Faithful friend from flattering foe.

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