Page images

Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp
As friend remember'd not.

26. SONG: TAKE, OH TAKE. Take, oh take, those lips away,

That so sweetly were forsworn;
And those eyes, the break of day,
Lights that do mislead the mor
But my kisses bring again,
Seals of love, but sealed in vain.
Hide, oh hide those hills of snow,

Which thy frozen bosom bears, On whose tops the pinks that grow, Are of those that April wears ; But my poor heart first set free, Bound in those icy chains to thee.

On a day, (alack the day!)
Love, whose month is ever May,
Spy'd a blossom passing fair,
Playing in the wanton air;

Through the velvet leaves the wind
All unseen 'gan passage find;
That the lover, sick to death,

Wish'd himself the heaven's breath.
Air (quoth he) thy cheeks may blow
Air, would I might triumph so!
But, alack! my hand is sworn,
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn,
Vow, alack, for youth unmeet,
Youth so apt to pluck a sweet.
Do not call it sin in me

That I am forsworn for thee:

Thou for whom e'en Jove would swear

Juno but an Ethiop were;
And deny himself for Jove,
Turning mortal for thy love.


When icicles hang on the wall,

And Dick the shepherd blows his nail;
And Tom bears logs into the hall,

And milk comes frozen home in pail;
When blood is nipt, and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl
Too-whit! too-whoo! -a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
When all around the wind doth blow,
And coughing drowns the parson's saw
And birds sit brooding in the snow,

And Marian's nose looks red and raw.
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,
Then nightly sings the staring ɔwl
Too-whit! too-whoo! a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.


She never told her love,

But let concealment like a worm i' the bud

Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought,
And, with a green-and-yellow melancholy,

She sat like Patience on a monument,

Smiling at grief.


What stronger breast-plate than a heart untainted ?
Thrice is he armed that hath his quarrel just;
And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel,
Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.


Good name in man and woman, dear my lord,
Is the immediate jewel of their souls.

Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing 'Twas mine, 'tis his; and has been slave to thousands. But he that filches from me my good name,

Robs me of that which not enriches him,

And makes me poor



1 I am sure care's an enemy to life.

2 Love sought is good, but love unsought is better. Our doubts are traitors,


And make us lose the good we oft might win,
By fearing to attempt.

4 The miserable have no other medicine,
But only hope.

5 The sense of death is most in apprehension : And the beetle that we tread upon,


In corporal sufferance feels a pang as greut
As when a giant dies.

6 For there was never yet philosopher

That could endure the tooth-ache patiently.

7 Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind.

8 In maiden meditation fancy-free.

9 The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,

Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven,
And as imagination bodies forth

The form of things unknown, the poet's pen
Turns them to shape, and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name.

10 A jest's prosperity lies in the ear

Of him that hears it, never in the tongue
Of him that makes it.

11 This fellow picks up wit as pigeons peas,
And utters it again when God doth please.
12 The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.

13 What! wouldst thou have a serpent sting thee twice 14 The man that hath no music in himself,

Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds,

Is fit for treasons, stratagems, aud spoils.

15 And so from hour to hour we ripe and ripe: And so from hour to hour we rot and rot, And thereby hangs a tale.

16 I am a feather for each wind that blows.
17 Let's take the instant by the forward top:
For we are old, and on our quickest decrees
The inaudible and noiseless foot of Time
Steals ere we can effect them.


Come what may;

Time and the hour runs through the roughest day. 19 Your face, my thane, is as a book where men May read strange matters.


This even-handed justice Commends the ingredients of our poisoned chalice To our own lips.

21 I dare do all that may become a man,

Who dares do more is none.


We fail!


But screw your courage to the sticking-place,
And we'll not fail.

Thou sure and firm-set earth,
Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear
Thy very stones prate of my whereabout.

24 The labour we delight in physics pain.
25 A falcon towering in her pride of place,

Was by a mousing owl hawked at and killed. 26 Stand not upon the order of your going, But go at once.

27 Throw physic to the dogs: I'll none of it! 28 Thou wear a lion's hide! Doff it for shame, And hang a calf's skin on those recreant limbs. 29 The better part of valour is discretion. 30 Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep. 31 Thrice is he armed that hath his quarrel just. 32 True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings:

Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings. 33 One touch of nature makes the whole world kin. 34 Time hath, my lord, a wallet on his back, Wherein he puts alms for oblivion.




As it fell upon a day

In the merry month of May,
Sitting in a pleasant shade
Which a grove of myrtles made;
Beasts did leap, and birds did sing,
Trees did grow, and plants did spring:
Every thing did banish moan,

Save the nightingale alone;

She, poor bird, as all forlorn,
Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn,
And there sung the dolefull'st ditty,
That to hear it was great pity.
Fie, fie, fie, now would she cry;
Teru, teru, by and by;

That to hear her so complain,
Scarce I could from tears refrain;
For her griefs, so lively shown,
Made me think upon my own.
Ah! thought I, thou mourn'st in vain;
None takes pity on thy pain:

Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee.
Ruthless bears, they will not cheer thee:
King Pandion, he is dead;

All thy friends are lapp'd in lead;

All thy fellow-birds do sing,
Careless of thy sorrowing!

Whilst as fickle Fortune smil'd,
Thou and I were both beguil'd.
Every one that flatters thee
Is no friend in misery.

Words are easy, like the wind.
Faithful hearts are hard to find.

Every man will be thy friend,

Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend:
But if store of crowns be scant,
No man will supply thy want.

« ՆախորդըՇարունակել »