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The homely house that harbors quiet rest; The cottage that affords no pride nor care; The mean that 'grees with country music best; The sweet consort1 of mirth and music's fare; 10 Obscured life sets down a type of bliss: A mind content both crown and kingdom is.


Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee,
When thou art old there's grief enough for
Mother's wag, pretty boy,
Father's sorrow, father's joy;
When thy father first did see 5
Such a boy by him and me,
He was glad, I was woe;
Fortune changed made him so,
When he left his pretty boy,
Last his sorrow, first his joy. 10

Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee,
When thou art old there's grief enough for
Streaming tears that never stint,
Like pearl drops from a flint,
Fell by course from his eyes, 15
That one another's place supplies;
Thus he grieved in every part,
Tears of blood fell from his heart,
When he left his pretty boy,
Father's sorrow, father's joy. 20

Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee, When thou art old there's grief enough for
The wanton smiled, father wept,
Mother cried, baby leapt;
More he crowed, more he cried, 25
Nature could not sorrow hide:
He must go, he must kiss
Child and mother, baby bless,
For he left his pretty boy,
Father's sorrow, father's joy. 30 Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my

When thou art old there's grief enough for thee.

1 harmony.

THOMAS LODGE (1658?-1625)

Love in my bosom like a bee

Doth suck his sweet;
Now with his wings he plays with me,

Now with his feet.
Within mine eyes he makes his nest, 5
His bed amidst my tender breast;
My kisses are his daily feast,
And yet he robs me of my rest.

Ah, wanton, will ye?

And if I sleep, then percheth he, 10

With pretty flight,
And makes his pillow of my knee,

The livelong night.
Strike I my lute, he tunes the string;
He music plays if so I sing; 15 He lends me every lovely thing;
Yet cruel he my heart doth sting.

Whist,2 wanton, still ye!

Else I with roses every day

Will whip you hence, 20 And bind you, when you long to play,

For your offence. I'll shut my eyes to keep you in, I'll make you fast it for your sin, I'll count your power not worth a pin. 25 Alas! what hereby shall I win

If he gainsay me?

What if I beat the wanton boy

With many a rod?
He will repay me with annoy,

Because a god.
Then sit thou safely on my knee,
And let thy bower my bosom be;
Lurk in mine eyes, I like of thee.
O Cupid, so thou pity me,

Spare not, but play thee!

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Come live with me and be my love, And we will all the pleasures prove, That valleys, groves, hills, and fields, Woods, or steepy mountains, yields.

And we will sit upon the rocks, 5 Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses,
And a thousand fragrant posies, 10 A cap of flowers and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle:

A gown made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair lined slippers for the cold, 15 With buckles of the purest gold;

A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs;
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me and be my love. 20

The shepherd swains shall dance and sing
For thy delights each May morning;
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love.


Adieu, farewell, earth's bliss,
This world uncertain is:
Fond1 are life's lustful joys,
Death proves them all but toys.
None from his darts can fly;
I am sick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us!

Rich men, trust not in wealth,
Gold cannot buy you health;
Physic himself must fade;
All things to end are made;
The plague full swift goes by;
I am sick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us!

Beauty is but a flower,
Which wrinkles will devour:
Brightness falls from the air;
Queens have died young and fair;
Dust hath closed Helen's eye;
I am sick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us!

1 foolish.ISStrength stoops unto the grave;
Worms feed on Hector brave;
Swords may not fight with fate;
Earth still holds ope her gate; 25
Come, come, the bells do cry;
I am sick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us!

Wit with his wantonness,
Tasteth death's bitterness; 30 Hell's executioner
Hath no ears for to hear
What vain art can reply;
I am sick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us! 35

Haste therefore each degree
To welcome destiny:
Heaven is our heritage,
Earth but a player's stage;
Mount we unto the sky; 40 I am sick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us!


Give me my scallop-shell2 of quiet,
My staff of faith to walk upon,

My scrip of joy, immortal diet,
My bottle of salvation,

My gown of glory, hope's true gage ;3 5

And thus I'll take my pilgrimage.

Blood must be my body's balmer;

No other balm will there be given;
Whilst my soul, like a quiet palmer,

Travelleth towards the land of heaven,
Over the silver mountains, n Where spring the nectar fountains.
There will I kiss
The bowl of bliss;
And drink mine everlasting fill 15 Upon every milken hill.
My soul will be a-dry before;
But, after, it will thirst no more.

Then by that happy blissful day

More peaceful pilgrims I shall see, 20

That have cast off their rags of clay,
And walk apparelled fresh like me.

1 badge of a pilgrim. 'pledge.

I'll take them first,

To quench their thirst And taste of nectar suckets1 25

At those clear wells

Where sweetness dwells,
Drawn up by saints in crystal buckets.

And when our bottles and all we
Are filled with immortality, 30 Then the blessed paths we'll travel,
Strowed with rubies thick as gravel;
Ceilings of diamonds, sapphire floors,
High walls of coral, and pearly bowers.

From thence to Heaven's bribeless hall, Where no corrupted voices brawl; 36 No conscience molten into gold; No forged accuser bought or sold; No cause deferred, no vain-spent journey, For there Christ is the King's Attorney, 40 Who pleads for all, without degrees, And he hath angels but no fees.

And when the grand twelve million jury Of our sins, with direful fury, Against our souls black verdicts give, 45 Christ pleads his death; and then we live.

Be Thou my speaker, taintless Pleader! Unblotted Lawyer! true Proceeder! Thou giv'st salvation, even for alms, Not with a bribed lawyer's palms. 50

And this is mine eternal plea To Him that made heaven and earth and sea: That, since my flesh must die so soon, And want a head to dine next noon, Just at the stroke, when my veins start and spread, 55 Set on my soul an everlasting head!

Then am I ready, like a palmer fit, To tread those blest paths, which before I writ.


Even such is time, that takes in trust
Our youth, our joys, our all we have,

And pays us but with earth and dust;
Who in the dark and silent grave,

When we have wandered all our
Shuts up the story of our days:
But from this earth, this grave, this
My God shall raise me up, I trust.


As I in hoary winter's night stood shivering in the snow, Surprised I was with sudden heat which

made my heart to glow; And lifting up a fearful eye to view what

fire was near, A pretty babe, all burning bright, di

the air appear, Who, scorched with excessive heat, such

floods of tears did shed, As though his floods should quench

flames which with his tears were "Alas!" quoth he, "but newly borr

fiery heats I fry, Yet none approach to warm their heart

feel my fire but I! My faultless breast the furnace is, the fuel,

wounding thorns; Love is the fire and sighs the smoke, the

ashes, shame and scorns; The fuel Justice layeth on, and Mercy

blows the coals; The metal in this furnace wrought are

men's defiled souls; For which, as now on fire I am to work

them to their good, So will I melt into a bath to wash them:

my blood." With this he vanished out of sight, and

swiftly shrunk away, 15 And straight I called unto mind that it

was Christmas-day.

From Love's Labor's Lost

When icicles hang by 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 nipped and ways be foul, 5
Then nightly sings the staring owl,

Tu-whit, to-who,

A merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel1 the pot.

When all aloud the wind doth blow, 10
And coughing drowns the parson's saw,
And birds sit brooding in the snow,

And Marian's nose looks red and raw,
When roasted crabs2 hiss in the bowl,
Then nightly sings the staring owl, 15

Tu-whit, to-who,

A merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

From Two Gentlemen Of Verona

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. 5

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 helped, inhabits there. 10

Then to Silvia let us sing

That Silvia is excelling;
She excels each mortal thing

Upon the dull earth dwelling;
To her let us garlands bring. 15

From A Midsummer Night's 'dream

Over hill, over dale,

Thorough bush, thorough brier,

Over park, over pale,

Thorough flood, thorough fire,

I do wander everywhere, 5

Swifter than the moon's sphere;

And I serve the fairy Queen,

To dew her orbs upon the green.

The cowslips tall her pensioners be;

In their gold coats spots you see: 10

Those be rubies, fairy favors,

In those freckles live their savors.

I must go seek some dewdrops here,

And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.

1 cool by stirring. t apples.Front The Merchant Of Venice

Tell me where is fancy3 bred,
Or in the heart or in the head?
How begot, how nourished?
Reply, reply.

It is engendered 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.

From As You Like It

Under the greenwood tree
Who loves to lie with me,
And turn 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.

Blow, blow, thou winter wind, Thou art not so unkind

As man's ingratitude;
Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because'thou art not seen, 5

Although thy breath be rude.

Heigh ho! sing, heigh ho! unto the green

Most friendship is feigning, most loving
mere folly:
Then, heigh ho, the holly!
This life is most jolly. 10

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky!
That dost not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot;

3 love.

Though thou the waters warp,1
Thy sting is not so sharp 15

As friend remembered not.

Heigh ho! sing, heigh ho! etc.

It was a lover and his lass

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, That o'er the green corn-field did pass

In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding;5 Sweet lovers love the spring.

Between the acres of the rye,

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, These pretty country folks would lie,

In spring time, etc. 10

This carol they began that hour,
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,

How that life was but a flower
In spring time, etc.

And therefore take the present time, 15
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,

For love is crowned with the prime
In spring time, etc.

From Twelfth Night

O Mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O, stay and hear, your true love's coming,

That can sing both high and low:
Trip no further, pretty sweeting,
Journeys end in lovers meeting, 5

Every wise man's son doth know.

What is love? 'Tis not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;

What's to come is still unsure:
In delay there lies no plenty; 10 Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty,

Youth's a stuff will not endure.

From Measure For Measure

Take, O, take those lips away,
That so sweetly were forsworn;

And those eyes, the break of day,
Lights that do mislead the morn:

But my kisses bring again, bring again; 5

Seals of love, but sealed in vain, sealed in vain.

1 transform.From Antony And Cleopa

Come, thou monarch of the vine,
Plumpy Bacchus with pink eyne!2
In thy vats our cares be drowned,
With thy grapes our hairs be crowned!
Cup us, till the world go round,
Cup us, till the world go round!

From Cymbeline

Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gat

And Phoebus 'gins arise,
His steeds at water at those springs

On chalked3 flowers that lies;
And winking Mary-buds begin

To ope their golden eyes;
With every thing that pretty is,

My lady sweet, arise!
Arise, arise!

Fear no more the heat o' the 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' the 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 the all-dreaded thunder-stone;4

Fear not slander, censure rash;
Thou hast finished joy and moan:

All lovers young, all lovers must

Consign to thee, and come to dust.

No exorciser harm thee!

Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
Ghost unlaid forbear thee!

Nothing ill come near thee!
Quiet consummation have;
And renowned be thy grave!

From The Tempest
Ariel's Songs

Come unto these yellow sands,

And then take hands;
Curtsied when you have, and kissed

The wild waves whist,6

1 eyes. 'cup-shaped. 1thundtrboll. 'hushed.

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