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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 spite,
In the churchway paths to glide;
By the triple Hecat's team,
IN MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
SIGH no more, ladies, sigh no more;
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 leavy. Then sigh not so, &c.
IN THE MERCHANT OF VENICE.
TELL me, where is Fancy bred, Or in the heart, or in the head? How begot, how nourished?
It is engender'd in the eyes;
IN THE TEMPEST.
WHERE the bee sucks, there suck I;
In a cowslip's bell I lie;
There I couch when owls do cry;
Merrily, merrily shall I live now
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.
FROM THE 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 Sylvia let us sing,
FEAR no more the heat o' th' Sun,
Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages:
Fear no more the frown o' th' great,
To thee the reed is as the oak.
Fear no more the lightning-flash,
Thou hast finished joy and moan. All lovers young, all lovers must Consign to thee, and come to dust: