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The homely house that harbors quiet rest;
The cottage that affords no pride nor THOMAS LODGE (1558?-1626)

care;
The mean that 'grees with country music

ROSALIND'S MADRIGAL best;

Love in my bosom like a bee The sweet consort of mirth and music's

Doth suck his sweet; fare;

Now with his wings he plays with me, Obscurèd life sets down a type of bliss:

Now with his feet. A mind content both crown and kingdom Within mine eyes he makes his nest, is.

His bed amidst my tender breast;
My kisses are his daily feast,

And yet he robs me of my rest.
SEPHESTIA'S SONG TO HER CHILD

Ah, wanton, will ye?
Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee, And if I sleep, then percheth he,
When thou art old there's grief enough for With pretty flight,
thee.

And makes his pillow of my knee,
Mother's wag, pretty boy,

The livelong night.
Father's sorrow,
father's joy;

Strike I my lute, he tunes the string;
When thy father first did see 5 He music plays if so I sing;
Such a boy by him and me,

He lends me every lovely thing;
He was glad, I was woe;

Yet cruel he my heart doth sting.
Fortune changed made him so, Whist, wanton, still ye!
When he left his pretty boy,

Else I with roses every day
Last his sorrow, first his joy.

Will whip you hence,
Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee, And bind you, when you long to play,
When thou art old there's grief enough for

For your offence. thee.

I'll shut my eyes to keep you in,
Streaming tears that never stint,

I'll make you fast it for your sin,
Like pearl drops from a flint,

I'll count your power not worth a pin. 25
Fell by course from his eyes,

Alas! what hereby shall I win

15
That one another's place supplies;

If he gainsay me?
Thus he grieved in every part, What if I beat the wanton boy
Tears of blood fell from his heart,

With many a rod?
When he left his pretty boy, He will repay me with annoy,

30 Father's sorrow, father's joy.

Because a god.

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I'll take them first,

When we have wandered all our ways, 5 To quench their thirst

Shuts up the story of our days: And taste of nectar suckets 25 But from this earth, this grave, this dust,

, At those clear wells

My God shall raise me up, I trust.
Where sweetness dwells,
Drawn up by saints in crystal buckets.

ROBERT SOUTHWELL (15617-1596)
And when our bottles and all we
Are filled with immortality,

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THE BURNING BABE Then the blessèd paths we'll travel, Strowed with rubies thick as gravel; As I in hoary winter's night stood shiverCeilings of diamonds, sapphire floors,

ing in the snow, High walls of coral, and pearly bowers. Surprised I was with sudden heat which

made my heart to glow; From thence to Heaven's bribeless hall, | And lifting up a fearful eye to view what Where no corrupted voices brawl;

fire was near, No conscience molten into gold;

A pretty babe, all burning bright, did in No forged accuser bought or sold;

the air appear, No cause deferred, no vain-spent jour- Who, scorched with excessive heat, such ney,

floods of tears did shed,

5 For there Christ is the King's Attorney, 40 As though his floods should quench his Who pleads for all, without degrees,

flames which with his tears were fed; And he hath angels but no fees.

"Alas!” quoth he, “but newly born in And when the grand twelve million jury fiery heats I fry, Of our sins, with direful fury,

Yet none approach to warm their hearts or Against our souls black verdicts give,

feel my fire but I! Christ pleads his death; and then we live. My faultless breast the furnace is, the fuel,

wounding thorns; Be Thou my speaker, taintless Pleader! | Love is the fire and sighs the smoke, the Unblotted Lawyer! true Proceeder!

ashes, shame and scorns; Thou giv'st salvation, even for alms, The fuel Justice layeth on, and Mercy Not with a bribed lawyer's palms.

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blows the coals;

The metal in this furnace wrought are And this is mine eternal plea

men's defiled souls; To Him that made heaven and earth and For which, as now on fire I am to work sea:

them to their good, That, since my flesh must die so soon, So will I melt into a bath to wash them in And want a head to dine next noon, Just at the stroke, when my veins start With this he vanished out of sight, and and spread,

55
swiftly shrunk away,

15 Set on my soul an everlasting head! And straight I called unto mind that it

was Christmas-day. Then am I ready, like a palmer fit, To tread those blest paths, which before I writ.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE (1664-1616)

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my blood.”

SONGS FROM THE PLAYS THE CONCLUSION

From Love's LABOR'S LOST Even such is time, that takes in trust

Our youth, our joys, our all we have, When icicles hang by the wall, And pays us but with earth and dust; And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, Who in the dark and silent grave, And Tom bears logs into the hall,

And milk comes frozen home in pail,

I sweets.

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No enemy

Is she kind as she is fair?

Who doth ambition shun For beauty lives with kindness.

And loves to live i’ the sun, Love doth to her eyes repair

Seeking the food he eats, To help him of his blindness,

And pleased with what he gets, And, being helped, inhabits there.

Come hither, come hither, come hither!

Here shall he see Then to Silvia let us sing

15 That Silvia is excelling;

But winter and rough weather. She excels each mortal thing

Upon the dull earth dwelling; To her let us garlands bring.

15

Blow, blow, thou winter wind,

Thou art not so unkind From A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM

As man's ingratitude; Over hill, over dale,

Thy tooth is not so keen, Thorough bush, thorough brier,

Because thou art not seen,

5 Over park, over pale,

Although thy breath be rude. Thorough flood, thorough fire, I do wander everywhere,

5 Heigh ho! sing, heigh ho! unto the green Swister than the moon's sphere;

holly: And I serve the fairy Queen,

Most friendship is feigning, most loving To dew her orbs upon the green.

mere folly: The cowslips tall her pensioners be;

Then, heigh ho, the holly!
In their gold coats spots you see:

This life is most jolly.
Those be rubies, fairy favors,
In those freckles live their savors.

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1

Though thou the waters warp,

From ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA Thy sting is not so sharp

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Come, thou monarch of the vine,
As friend remembered not.

Plumpy Bacchus with pink eyne!2

In thy vats our cares be drowned,
Heigh ho! sing, heigh ho! etc.

With thy grapes our hairs be crowned!
Cup us, till the world go round,

5 It was a lover and his lass

Cup us, till the world go round! With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,

From CYMBELINE
That o'er the green corn-field did pass
In the spring time, the only pretty ring Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
time,

And Phæbus 'gins arise,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding;5 His steeds at water at those springs
Sweet lovers love the spring.

On chaliced flowers that lies;
And winking Mary-buds begin

5 Between the acres of the rye,

To ope their golden eyes;
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, With every thing that pretty is,
These pretty country folks would lie, My lady sweet, arise!
In spring time, etc.

Arise, arise!

IO

This carol they began that hour,

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, How that life was but a flower

In spring time, etc.

And therefore take the present time, 15

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, For love is crowned with the prime

In spring time, etc.

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From TWELFTH NIGHT
O Mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O, stay and hear, your true love's coming,

That can sing both high and low:
Trip no further, pretty sweeting,
Journeys end in lovers meeting,

5 Every wise man's son doth know.

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,

5
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.
Fear no more the frown o' the 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 the all-dreaded thunder-stone;4
Fear not slander, censure rąsh;

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Thou hast finished joy and moan:
All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee, and come to dust.
No exorciser harm thee!

Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
Ghost unlaid forbear thee!

Nothing ill come near thee!
Quiet consummation have;
And renowned be thy grave!

What is love? 'Tis not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;

What's to come is still unsure:
In delay there lies no plenty;
Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty,

Youth's a stuff will not endure.

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From MEASURE FOR MEASURE Take, O, 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, bring again; 5
Seals of love, but sealed in vain, sealed in
vain.

From THE TEMPEST

ARIEL'S SONGS
Come unto these yellow sands,

And then take hands;
Curtsied when you have, and kissed
The wild waves whist,"