FROM MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. FIE on sinful fantasy! Fie on lust and luxury! Lust is but a bloody fire, Kindled with unchaste desire, Fed in heart; whose flames aspire, As thoughts do blow them, higher and higher. Pinch him for his villany; Pinch him, and burn him, and turn him about, Till candles, and star-light, and moonshine be out. FROM TWELFTH NIGHT. COME away, come away, death, And in sad cypress let me be laid ; Fly away, fly away, breath; I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, My part of death no one so true On Not a flower, not a flower sweet, my black coffin let there be strown; Not a friend, not a friend greet My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown; Sad true lover never find my grave, FROM MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. SIGH no more, ladies, sigh no more, One foot in sea, and one on shore; But let them go, And be you blithe and bonny; Sing no more ditties, sing no mo PARDON, Goddess of the night, Midnight, assist our moan; Graves, yawn, and yield your dead, Heavily, heavily. FROM LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. I. WHEN daisies pied, and violets blue, Do paint the meadows with delight, Cuckoo, cuckoo,-O word of fear, II. When shepherds pipe on oaten straws, The cuckoo then, on every tree, Mocks married men, for thus sings he, Cuckoo, cuckoo,-O word of fear, III. 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, Tu-whit, To-who, a merry note, IV. When all aloud the wind doth blow, And Marian's nose looks red and raw, Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note, FROM THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. TELL me, where is fancy bred, UNDER the greenwood 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, Seeking the food he eats, And pleas'd with what he gets, Come hither, come hither, come hither! Here shall he see No enemy, But winter and rough weather. |