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If ever thou gavest hosen and shoon,
-Every nighte and alle,

Sit thee down and put them on;

And Christe receive thy saule.

If hosen and shoon thou ne'er gav'st nane,
-Every nighte and alle,

The whinnes sall prick thee to the bare bane;
And Christe receive thy saule.

From Whinny-muir when thou may'st pass,
-Every nighte and alle,

To Brig o' Dread thou com'st at last;
And Christe receive thy saule.

From Brig o' Dread when thou may'st pass,
-Every nighte and alle,

To Purgatory fire thou com'st at last;

And Christe receive thy saule.

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If ever thou gavest meat or drink,

-Every nighte and alle,

The fire sall never make thee shrink;

And Christe receive thy saule.

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If meat or drink thou ne'er gav'st nane,
-Every nighte and alle,

The fire will burn thee to the bare bane;
And Christe receive thy saule.

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1623.

THE SUN"

From Cymbeline

FEAR no more the heat o' the 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' the great,
Thou are 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 the all-dreaded thunder-stone;
Fear not slander, censure rash;

Thou hast finished joy and moan:
All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee, and come to dust.

William Shakespeare.

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1623.

A SEA DIRGE

From The Tempest

FULL fathom five thy father lies:
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes:
Nothing of him that doth fade

But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:
Hark! now I hear them,-Ding-dong,

bell!

William Shakespeare.

THE SHROUDING OF THE
DUCHESS OF MALFI

From The Duchess of Malfi

HARK! Now everything is still,

The screech-owl and the whistler shrill,

Call upon our dame aloud,

And bid her quickly don her shroud!

Much you had of land and rent;
Your length in clay's now competent:
A long war disturb'd your mind;
Here your perfect peace is sign'd.

Of what is 't fools make such vain keeping?
Sin their conception, their birth weeping,
Their life a general mist of error,
Their death a hideous storm of terror.
Strew your hair with powders sweet,
Don clean linen, bathe your feet,

And the foul end more to check

A crucifix let bless your neck:

'T is now full tide 'tween night and day; End your groan and come away.

1612? 1623.

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John Webster.

A DIRGE

From The White Devil.

CALL for the robin-redbreast and the wren,
Since o'er the shady groves they hover,
And with leaves and flowers do cover
The friendless bodies of unburied men.
Call unto his funeral dole

The ant, the field-mouse, and the mole,

To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm, And (when gay tombs are robb’d) sustain no harm;

But keep the wolf far thence, that 's foe to men, For with his nails he 'll dig them up again.

1612.

John Webster.

MINSTREL'S SONG

From Ella

Он sing unto my roundelay!

Oh drop the briny tear with me!
Dance no more at holiday;

Like a running river be.

My love is dead,

Gone to his death-bed,

All under the willow-tree.

Black his hair as the winter night,
White his skin as the summer snow,
Ruddy his face as the morning light;
Cold he lies in the grave below.

Sweet his tongue as the throstle's note;
Quick in dance as thought can be;

Deft his tabor, cudgel stout;

Oh! he lies by the willow-tree!

ΙΟ

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Hark! the raven flaps his wing

In the briered dell below;

Hark! the death-owl loud doth sing
To the nightmares as they go.

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