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Though thou the waters warp,

Thy sting is not so sharp 15

Come, thou monarch of the vine,
As friend remembered not.

Plumpy Bacchus with pink eyne!2

In thy vats our cares be drowned, Heigh ho! sing, heigh ho! etc.

With thy grapes our hairs be crowned!

Cup us, till the world go round,
It was a lover and his lass

Cup us, till the world go round!
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
That o'er the green corn-field did pass

From CYMBELINE In the spring time, the only pretty ring Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings, time,

And Phæbus 'gins arise,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding;5 His steeds at water at those springs
Sweet lovers love the spring.

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

5 Between the acres of the rye,

To ope their golden eyes;
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, With every thing that pretty is,
These pretty country folks would lie, My lady sweet, arise!
In spring time, etc.

Arise, arise!


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.

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.

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!


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

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 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


Come unto these yellow sands,

And then take hands;
Curtsied when you have, and kissed
The wild waves whist,

I transform.

a cup-shaped. * thunderbolt. shushed.

? eyes.

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When to her lute Corinna sings,
Her voice revives the leaden strings,
And doth in highest notes appear
As any challenged echo clear;

i neatly.

But Oye nights, ordained for barren

rest, How are my days deprived of life in you When heavy sleep my soul hath dispossest, By feigned death life sweetly to re

new! Part of my life in that, you life deny: So every day we live, a day we die.







Now winter nights enlarge

What if a day, or a month, or a year, The number of their hours;

Crown thy delights, with a thousand And clouds their storms discharge

sweet contentings? Upon the airy towers.

Cannot a chance of a night or an hour Let now the chimneys blaze,

5 Cross thy desires with as many sad torAnd cups o'erflow with wine,

mentings? Let well-tuned words amaze

Fortune, honor, beauty, youth, With harmony divine.

Are but blossoms dying; Now yellow waxen lights

Wanton pleasure, doting love, Shall wait on honey love;

Are but shadows flying; While youthful revels, masques, and All our joys are but toys, courtly sights,

Idle thoughts deceiving; Sleep's leaden spells remove.

None have power of an hour

In their life's bereaving.
This time doth well dispense
With lovers' long discourse;

Earth's but a point to the world, and a
Much speech hath some defence, 15
Though beauty no remorse.

Is but a point to the world's compared All do not all things well:


14 Some measures comely tread,

Shall then a point of a point be so vain Some knotted riddles tell,

As to triumph in a silly point's adventure? Some poems smoothly read.

All is hazard that we have, The summer hath his joys,

There is nothing biding; And winter his delights;

Days of pleasure are like streams Though love and all his pleasures are but Through fair meadows gliding. toys,

Weal and woe, Time doth go,
They shorten tedious nights.

Time is never turning:
Secret fates guide our states,

Both in mirth and mourning.




There is a garden in her face

THOMAS DEKKER (16727-p. 1632)
Where roses and white lilies grow;
A heavenly paradise is that place,

Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow:
There cherries grow,

which none may

Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbuy


Till“ Cherry-ripe" themselves do cry. O sweet content!

Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplexed? Those cherries fairly do enclose

O punishment ! Of orient pearl a double row,

Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vexed Which when her lovely laughter shows, To add to golden numbers golden numThey look like rosebuds filled with snow; bers?

6 Yet them nor peer nor prince can buy O sweet content!O sweet, O sweet content! Till“ Cherry-ripe" themselves do cry. Work

apace, apace, apace, apace;

Honest labor bears a lovely face, Her eyes like angels watch them still; Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny!

Her brows like bended bows do stand, Threatening with piercing frowns to kill 15 Canst drink the waters of the crispèd! All that attempt, with eye or hand,

spring? Those sacred cherries to come nigh O sweet content! Till “Cherry-ripe" themselves do cry.

1 rippling.


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Which, in his height of pride,
King Henry to deride,
His ransom to provide

To the King sending;
I raise.

Well it thine age became, O noble Erpingham,


2 the French general.

3 the command to send a ransom.
5 advance guard.

6 main host,

resolution. 7 so that.


Which didst the signal aim

To our hid forces; When, from a meadow by, Like a storm suddenly, The English archery

Stuck the French horses,

Which fame did not delay

To England to carry. O when shall English men With such acts fill a pen? Or England breed again

Such a King Harry?



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With Spanish yew so strong,
Arrows a cloth-yard long,
That like to serpents stung, 75

Piercing the weather;
None from his fellow starts,
But, playing manly parts,
And like true English hearts,
Stuck close together.

80 When down their bows they threw, And forth their bilbows drew, And on the French they flew,

Not one was tardy:
Arms were from shoulders sent, 85
Scalps to the teeth were rent,
Down the French peasants went:

Our men were hardy.
This while our noble King,
His broad sword brandishing,

90 Down the French host did ding,

As to o’erwhelm it;
And many a deep wound lent,
His arms with blood besprent,
And many a cruel dent

95 Bruised his helmet.

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Gloucester, that duke so good,
Next of the royal blood,
For famous England stood,

With his brave brother, Clarence, in steel so bright; Though but a maiden knight, Yet in that furious fight

Scarce such another.

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Upon Saint Crispin's day

Fought was this noble fray; I strike.

? besprinkled.

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