ARIEL'S SONG.

In The Tempest. V. I.

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.

SONG IN CYMBELINE.

II. 3.

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 is; My lady sweet, arise.

IMOGEN.

In Cymbeline. IV. 2.

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.

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.

Fear no more the lightning flash,

Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;

Fear not slander, censure rash;

Thou hast finished joy and moan.

SIGH NO MORE, LADIES.

In Much Ado About Nothing. II. 3.

Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more;
Men were deceivers ever;
One foot in sea, and one on shore,
To one thing constant never;
Then sigh not so,

But let them go,

And be you blithe and bonny;
Converting all your sounds of woe
Into Hey nonny, nonny.

Sing no more ditties, sing no mo
Of dumps so dull and heavy;
The fraud of men was ever so,
Since summer first was leafy.

WHO IS SILVIA?

In Two Gentlemen of Verona. IV. 2.

"Who is Silvia ? what is she,

That all our swains commend her ? "

Holy, fair, and wise is she,

The Heaven such grace did lend her,

That she might admir-ed be.

"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 helped, 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.

SONNET XXIX.

When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes
I all alone beweep my outcast state,

And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself and curse my fate,

Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least,

Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,—
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising

From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;

For thy sweet love remembered, such wealth brings, That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

SONNET LXXI.

No longer mourn for me when I am dead
Than you shall hear the surly, sullen bell
Give warning to the world that I am fled
From this vile world with vilest worms to dwell;

Nay, if you read this line, remember not
The hand that writ it; for I love you so,
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot,
If thinking on me then should make you woe.

Oh! if I say, you look upon this verse,
When I perhaps compounded am with clay,
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse,
But let your love ev'n with my life decay;

Lest the wise world should look into your moan,
And mock you with me after I am gone.

SONNET CXVI.

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove :

Oh no! it is an ever-fix-ed 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.

If this be error, and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

SIR JOHN DAVIES. [1570-1626

From "THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL,"-xxix.

Oh! what is man, great Maker of mankind!

That thou to him so great respect dost bear! That thou adorn'st him with so bright a mind, Mak'st him a king, and e'en an angel's peer! Oh what a lively life, what heavenly power, What spreading virtue, what a sparkling fire, How great, how plentiful, how rich a dower

Dost thou within this dying flesh inspire!

Thou leav'st thy print in other works of thine;
But thy whole image thou in man hast writ;
There cannot be a creature more divine,

Except like thee it should be infinite!

Nor hath he given these blessings for a day,
Nor made them on the body's life depend;
The soul, though made in time, survives for aye;
And though it hath beginning, sees no end.

1582-1650] PHINEAS FLETCHER.
[Cousin to the more known John Fletcher-see Grosart.]
PSALM CXXVII.

If God build not the house, and lay
The ground-work sure; who ever build,
It cannot stand one stormy day.—
If God be not the city's shield;

If He be not their bars and wall,
In vain is watch-tower, men and all.

Though then thou wak'st when others rest,
Though rising thou prevent'st the sun;
Though with lean care thou daily feast,
Thy labour's lost, and thou undone.

But God his child will feed and keep,
And draw the curtains to his sleep.

1573-1631]

JOHN DONNE.

SONG.

Sweetest love, I do not go

For weariness of thee,
Nor in hope the world can show
A fitter love for me;

Yesternight the sun went hence,

And yet is here to-day;
He hath no desire nor sense,

Nor half so short a way.