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;
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 frolic; not a mouse
Shall disturb this hallow'd house:
I am sent with broom before
To sweep the dust behind the door.

SONG.

IN MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.

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 leavy. Then sigh not so, &c.

SONG.

IN THE MERCHANT OF VENICE.

SONG.

IN TWELFTH NIGHT.

COME away, come away, death,

And in sad cypress let me be laid;
Fly away, fly away, breath,

I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
My shroud of white, stuck all with yew,
O prepare it;

My part of death no one so true
Did share it.

Not a flower, not a flower sweet

On my black coffin let there be strown;

Not a friend, not a friend greet

My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown:

A thousand thousand sighs to save,

Lay me, O! where

Sad true lover ne'er find my grave,
To weep there!

SONG.

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,
That Sylvia is excelling;
She excels each mortal thing
Upon the dull Earth dwelling;
To her let us garlands bring.

TELL me, where is Fancy bred, Or in the heart, or in the head? How begot, how nourished?

REPLY.

It is engender'd in the eyes;
With gazing fed; and Fancy dies
In the cradle where it lies.
Let us all ring Fancy's knell:
I'll begin it. Ding, dong, bell.
Ding, dong, bell.

ARIEL'S SONG.

IN THE TEMPEST.

WHERE the bee sucks, there suck I; In a cowslip's bell Ilie; 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.

FEAR no more the heat o' th' 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,
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

Fear no more the frown o' th' 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 th' all-dreaded thunder stone;
Fear not slander, censure rash,

Thou hast finished joy and moan.
All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee, and come to dust.