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Beauty, truth, and rarity,
Death is now the phenix' nest;
Leaving no posterity S
Truth may seem, but cannot be;
To this urn let those repair
SONGS FROM THE PLAYS OF
FROM THE TEMPEST.
Come unto these yellow sands,
And then take hands :
(The wild waves whist)
Hark, hark ! Burden. Bowgh, wowgh. [dispersedly
The watch-dogs bark :
Hark, hark! I hear
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.
WHERE the bee sucks, there suck I;
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.
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:
Philomel, with melody,
Sing in our sweet lullaby;
Never harm, nor spell nor charm,
Weaving spiders, come not here;
Hence, you long-legg'd spinners, hence; Beetles black, approach not near ;
Worm, nor snail, do no offence.
Philomel with melody, &c.
Hence, away; now all is well :
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,
Following darkness like a dream,