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To this urn let those repair
That are either true or fair;

For these dead birds sigh a prayer.

WM. SHAKESPEARE.

SONGS FROM THE PLAYS OF

SHAKESPEARE.

FROM THE TEMPEST.

COME unto these yellow sands,
And then take hands:
Court'sied when you have, and kiss'd,

(The wild waves whist)

Foot it featly here and there;

And, sweet sprites, the burden bear.

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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.

[Burden, Ding-dong.

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.

FROM TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.

WHO is Silvia? what is she,

That all our swains commend her?

Holy, fair, and wise is she

The heavens such grace did lend her, That she might admired 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 help'd, 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.

FROM MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM.

FIRST FAIRY.

You spotted snakes, with double tongue,
Thorny hedge-hogs, be not seen;
Newts, and blind-worms, do no wrong;
Come not near our fairy queen:

CHORUS.

Philomel, with melody,

Sing in our sweet lullaby;

Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby;

Never harm, nor spell nor charm,

Come our lovely lady nigh;

So, good night, with lullaby.

SECOND FAIRY,

Weaving spiders, come not here;

Hence, you long-legg'd spinners, hence;

Beetles black, approach not near;

Worm, nor snail, do no offence.

CHORUS.

Philomel with melody, &c.

FIRST FAIRY.

Hence, away; now all is well:
One, aloof, stand centinel.

PUCK.

Now the hungry lion roars,
And the wolf behowls the moon;
Whilst the heavy ploughman snores,
All with weary task fordone.
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,
Every one lets forth his sprite,
In the church-way 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 frolick; not a mouse
Shall disturb this hallow'd house:
I am sent, with broom, before,
the dust behind the door.

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