CHORUS. Now old desire doth in his death-bed lie, Alike bewitched by the charm of looks; But to his foe suppos'd he must complain, And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks; Being held a foe, he may not have access To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear: But passion lends them power, time means to meet, OPHELIA. Pol. Farewell! How now, Ophelia? what's the matter? Oph. My lord, as I was sewing in my closet, As if he had been loosed out of hell, To speak of horrors, he comes before me. Pol. Mad for thy love? Oph. But truly I do fear it. Pol. My lord I do not know; What said he? Oph. He took me by the wrist, and held me hard; Then goes he to the length of all his arm; And with his other hand thus o'er his brow, He falls to such perusal of my face, As he would draw it. Long stay'd he so; And thrice his head thus waving up and down,- And end his being: that done, he lets me go: Oth. It gives me wonder great as my content To see you here before me. O my soul's joy! If after every tempest comes such calms, May the winds blow till they have waken'd death! As hell's from heaven! If it were now to die But that our loves and comforts should increase Oth. Amen to that, sweet powers! I cannot speak enough of this content, It stops me here; it is too much of joy: lago. O, you are well tun'd now! But I'll set down the pegs that make this music; Oth. [Aside. Come, let's to the castle. News, friends: our wars are done, the Turks are drown'd. How do our old acquaintance of this isle? Honey, you shall be well desir'd in Cyprus, I have found great love amongst them. O my sweet, I prattle out of fashion, and I dote In mine own comforts. I pr'ythee, good Iago, Go to the bay, and disembark my coffers: Bring thou the master to the citadel; He is a good one, and his worthiness Does challenge much respect. Come Desdemona, SONG. Des. The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree, Sing all a green willow; [Singing. Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee, Sing willow, willow, willow: The fresh streams ran by her, and murmured her moans; Her salt tears fell from her and softened the stones, Sing all a green willow must be my garland. ARIEL'S SONG. FROM THE TEMPEST. Ariel invisible, singing and playing. Ferdinand following him. Fer. Where should this music be? i' the air, or the earth? It sounds no more;-and sure, it waits upon Some god of the island. Sitting on a bank, [ARIEL sings. Full fathom five thy father lies; Of his bones are coral made; Nothing of him that doth fade, But doth suffer a sea-change Hark! now I hear them-ding-dong, bell, [Burden, ding-dong. SONG. Ariel. Where the bee sucks, there lurk 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 bough. SONG. FROM AS YOU LIKE IT. Amiens. Under the green-wood tree, And tune his merry note, Unto the sweet bird's throat. Come hither, come hither, come hither; Here shall he see No enemy, But winter and rough weather. Who doth ambition shun, And loves to live i' the sun, Seeking the food he eats, And pleased with what he gets, Come hither, come hither, come hither; Here shall he see No enemy, But winter and rough weather. SONG. Blow, blow, thou winter wind, ¡ Thou art not so unkind, As man's ingratitude! |