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Beauty, truth, and rarity,
Death is now the phoenix' nest;
Leaving no posterity :'Twas not their infirmity, It was married chastity.
Truth may seem, but cannot be;
To this urn let those repair
SONGS FROM THE PLAYS OF
FROM THE TEMPEST.
COME unto these yellow sands,
Foot it featly here and there:
And, sweet sprites, the burden bear.
Burden. Bowgh, wowgh.
The watch-dogs bark:
FULL fathom five thy father lies;
Into something rich and strange.
WHERE the bee sucks, there suck I;
After summer, merrily:
FROM TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.
WHO is Silvia? what is she,
That all our swains commend her? Holy, fair, and wise is she:
The heavens such grace did lend her, That she might admired be.
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 help'd, inhabits there.
Then to Silvia let us sing,
Upon the dull earth dwelling:
FROM MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM.
You spotted snakes, with double tongue, Thorny hedge-hogs, be not seen; Newts, and blind-worms, do no wrong; Come not near our fairy queen:
Philomel, with melody,
Sing in our sweet lullaby;
Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby;
Weaving spiders, come not here;
Hence, you long-legg'd spinners, hence;
Beetles black, approach not near;
Philomel with melody, &c.
Hence, away; now all is well:
Now the hungry lion roars,
And the wolf behowls the moon;
Whilst the scritch-owl, scritching loud,
That the graves, all gaping wide, Every one lets forth his sprite,
In the church-way paths to glide: And we fairies that do run
By the triple Hecat's team,
Following darkness like a dream,