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In the spring time, the only pretty ring Love doth to her eyes repair, time,
To help him of his blindness; When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, And, being help’d, inhabits there. Sweet lovers love the Spring.
Then to Silvia let us sing, And therefore take the present time,
That Silvia is excelling; With a hey, and a ho, and a hey-nonino, She excels each mortal thing For love is crowned with the prime
Upon the dull earth dwelling: In the spring time, the only pretty ring To her let us garlands bring.
time, When birds do sing, hye ding a ding, Sweet lovers love the Spring.
From MERCHANT OF VENICE
Tell me where is fancy bred,
Or in the heart or in the head?
That can sing both high and low:
It is engendered in the eyes,
With gazing fed; and fancy dies
Let us all ring fancy's knell;
I'll begin it, — Ding, dong, bell.
Ding, dong, bell.
From CYMBELINE TAKE, O TAKE THOSE LIPS AWAY HARK! hark! the lark at heaven's gate
sings, From MEASURE FOR MEASURE
And Phoebus 'gins arise, TAKE, O take those lips away,
His steeds to water at those springs That so sweetly were forsworn;
On chaliced flowers that lies; And those eyes, the break of day,
And winking Mary-buds begin Lights that do mislead the morn!
To ope their golden eyes :
With everything that pretty bin,
My lady sweet, arise!
WHERE THE BEE SUCKS
From THE TEMPEST
That all our swains commend her?
The heaven such grace did lend her, That she might admired be.
WHERE the bee sucks, there suck I:
Merrily, merrily, shall I live now,
Is she kind as she is fair?
For beauty lives with kindness:
LIKE as the waves make towards the peb
bled shore, XXX
So do our minutes hasten to their end; WHEN to the Sessions of sweet silent
Each changing place with that which goes thought
before, I summon up remembrance of things past, In sequent toil all forwards do contend. I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, Nativity, once in the main of light, And with old woes new wail my dear Crawls to maturity, wherewith being time's waste:
crowned, Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,
Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, For precious friends hid in death's dateless And Time that gave doth now his gift night,
And delves the parallels in beauty's brow, sight:
Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And nothing stands but for his scythe to And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er
mow: The sad account of fore-bemoanèd moan, And yet to times in hope my verse shall Which I new pay as if not paid before.
stand, But if the while I think on thee, dear Praising thy worth, despite his cruel friend,
That time of year thou may’st in me be-
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign hang eye,
Upon those boughs which shake against Kissing with golden face the meadows
the cold green,
Bare ruin'd choirs where late the sweet
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, As the death-bed whereon it must expire, Consumed with that which it was nourish'd
by. This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy
love more strong To love that well which thou must leave
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
shaken; It is the star to every wand'ring 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.
ART thou poor, yet has thou golden slumbers?
O sweet content! Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplex'd ?
O punishment ! Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vex'd To add to golden numbers golden num
bers? O sweet content! O sweet, O sweet
content! Work apace, apace, apace, apace; Honest labour bears a lovely face; Then hey nonny nonny - hey nonny
nonny! Canst drink the waters of the crispèd spring?
O sweet content! Swim'st thou in wealth, yet sink'st in thine own tears?
O punishment! Then he that patiently want's burden
bears, No burden bears, but is a king, a king! O sweet content! O sweet, Osweet
content! Work apace, apace, apace, apace; Honest labour bears a lovely face; Then hey nonny nonny – hey nonny
And I will pledge with mine;
And I'll not look for wine.
Doth ask a drink divine;
I would not change for thine.
HYMN TO PAN
SING his praises that doth keep
Our flocks from harm,
And arm in arm
I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
Not so much honouring thee
It could not wither'd be;
And sent'st it back to me;
Not of itself but thee!
Pan, O great god Pan, to thee
Thus do we sing ! Thou who keep'st us chaste and free
As the young spring : Ever be thy honour spoke
From that place the morn is broke To that place day doth unyoke !
A look that's fasten'd to the ground, A tongue chain'd up without a sound!
HENCE, all you vain delights,
As short as are the nights
Wherein you spend your folly! There's naught in this life sweet, If men were wise to see't,
But only melancholy –
O sweetest melancholy ! Welcome, folded arms and fixed eyes, A sight that piercing mortifies,
Fountain-heads and pathless groves,
bats and owls! A midnight bell, a parting groan
These are the sounds we feed upon : Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy
valley, Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely