ePub 版
[blocks in formation]

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.



Tell me where is fancy bred,

Or in the heart or in the head?
O MISTRESS mine, where are you roaming? How begot, how nourished?
O, stay and hear, your true love's coming, Reply, reply.

That can sing both high and low:
Trip no further, pretty sweeting,

It is engendered in the eyes,
Journeys end in lovers meeting,

With gazing fed; and fancy dies
Every wise man's son doth know. In the cradle where it lies :

Let us all ring fancy's knell;
What is love? 't is not hereafter;

I'll begin it, — Ding, dong, bell.
Present mirth hath present laughter;

Ding, dong, bell.
What's to come is still unsure:
In delay there lies no plenty,
Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty,

Youth's a stuff will not endure.

From CYMBELINE TAKE, O TAKE THOSE LIPS AWAY HARK! hark! the lark at heaven's gate


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 :
But my kisses bring again,

With everything that pretty bin,
Bring again;

My lady sweet, arise!
Seals of love, but seal'd in vain,

Arise, arise!
Seal'd in vain !



Who is Silvia? What is she?

That all our swains commend her?
Holy, fair, and wise is she;

The heaven such grace did lend her, That she might admired be.

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


Is she kind as she is fair?

For beauty lives with kindness:

[blocks in formation]



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 weep afresh love's long-since-cancell'd Time doth transfix the flourish set on

And moan th' expense of many a vanish'd

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,

All losses are restored and sorrows end.


That time of year thou may’st in me be-
FULL many a glorious morning have I


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
Gilding pale streams with heavenly al-

In me thou see'st the twilight of such day
Anon permit the basest clouds to ride As after sunset fadeth in the west,
With ugly rack on his celestial face, Which by and by black night doth take
And from the forlorn world his visage hide,

Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace: Death's second self, that seals up all in
Even so my sun one early morn did shine



[ocr errors]

birds sang.



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

ere long


Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O, no! it is an ever-fixèd mark,
That looks on tempests and is never

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




Drink to me only with thine eyes,

And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup

And I'll not look for wine.
The thirst that from the soul doth rise

Doth ask a drink divine;
But might I of Jove's nectar sup,

I would not change for thine.


SING his praises that doth keep

Our flocks from harm,
Pan, the father of our sheep;

And arm in arm
Tread we softly in a round,
Whilst the hollow neighbouring ground
Fills the music with her sound.

I sent thee late a rosy wreath,

Not so much honouring thee
As giving it a hope that there

It could not wither'd be;
But thou thereon didst only breathe,

And sent'st it back to me;
Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,

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,
Places which pale passion loves !
Moonlight walks, when all the fowls
Are warmly housed, save

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


« 上一頁繼續 »