Agincourt, Agincourt!Know ye not Agincourt,Where English slew and hurtAll their French foemen?With their pikes and bills brown,How the French were beat down,Shot by our Bowmen?Agincourt, Agincourt!Know ye not Agincourt,Never to be forgot,Or known to no men?Where English cloth-yard arrowsKilled the French like tame sparrows,Slain by our Bowmen?Agincourt, Agincourt!Know ye not Agincourt?English of every sort,High men and low men,Fought that day wondrous well,All our old stories tell,Thanks to our Bowmen!Agincourt, Agincourt!Know ye not Agincourt?Where our fifth Harry taughtFrenchmen to know men:And, when the day was done,Thousands there fell to oneGood English Bowman!Agincourt, Agincourt!Know ye not Agincourt?Dear was the vict'ry boughtBy fifty yeomen.Ask any English wench,They were worth all the French,Rare English Bowmen!
Agincourt, Agincourt!Know ye not Agincourt,Where English slew and hurtAll their French foemen?With their pikes and bills brown,How the French were beat down,Shot by our Bowmen?
Agincourt, Agincourt!Know ye not Agincourt,Never to be forgot,Or known to no men?Where English cloth-yard arrowsKilled the French like tame sparrows,Slain by our Bowmen?
Agincourt, Agincourt!Know ye not Agincourt?English of every sort,High men and low men,Fought that day wondrous well,All our old stories tell,Thanks to our Bowmen!
Agincourt, Agincourt!Know ye not Agincourt?Where our fifth Harry taughtFrenchmen to know men:And, when the day was done,Thousands there fell to oneGood English Bowman!
Agincourt, Agincourt!Know ye not Agincourt?Dear was the vict'ry boughtBy fifty yeomen.Ask any English wench,They were worth all the French,Rare English Bowmen!
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 nipt, and ways be foul,Then nightly sings the staring owlTu-whit!Tu-who! A merry note!While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.When all about 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 owlTu-whit!Tu-who! A merry note!While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
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 nipt, and ways be foul,Then nightly sings the staring owlTu-whit!Tu-who! A merry note!While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
When all about 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 owlTu-whit!Tu-who! A merry note!While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
Blow, blow, thou winter wind,Thou art not so unkindAs man's ingratitude;Thy tooth is not so keen,Because thou art not seen,Although thy breath be rude.Heigh, ho! sing heigh ho! unto the green holly:Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:Then heigh, ho, the holly!This life is most jolly.Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,That dost not bite so nighAs benefits forgot:Though thou the waters warp,Thy sting is not so sharpAs friend remember'd not.Heigh, ho! sing heigh ho! unto the green holly:Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:Then heigh, ho, the holly!This life is most jolly.
Blow, blow, thou winter wind,Thou art not so unkindAs man's ingratitude;Thy tooth is not so keen,Because thou art not seen,Although thy breath be rude.Heigh, ho! sing heigh ho! unto the green holly:Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:Then heigh, ho, the holly!This life is most jolly.
Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,That dost not bite so nighAs benefits forgot:Though thou the waters warp,Thy sting is not so sharpAs friend remember'd not.Heigh, ho! sing heigh ho! unto the green holly:Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:Then heigh, ho, the holly!This life is most jolly.
Fear no more the heat o' the sunNor 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, mustAll follow this, and come to dust.Fear no more the lightning-flashNor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;Fear not slander, censure rash;Thou hast finish'd joy and moan:All lovers young, all lovers mustConsign to thee, and come to dust.
Fear no more the heat o' the sunNor 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, mustAll follow this, and come to dust.
Fear no more the lightning-flashNor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;Fear not slander, censure rash;Thou hast finish'd joy and moan:All lovers young, all lovers mustConsign to thee, and come to dust.
Under the greenwood treeWho loves to lie with me,And tune his merry noteUnto the sweet bird's throat,Come hither, come hither, come hither;Here shall he seeNo enemy,But winter and rough weather.Who doth ambition shun,And loves to lie i' the sun,Seeking the food he eats,And pleas'd with what he gets,Come hither, come hither, come hither;Here shall he seeNo enemy,But winter and rough weather.
Under the greenwood treeWho loves to lie with me,And tune his merry noteUnto the sweet bird's throat,Come hither, come hither, come hither;Here shall he seeNo enemy,But winter and rough weather.
Who doth ambition shun,And loves to lie i' the sun,Seeking the food he eats,And pleas'd with what he gets,Come hither, come hither, come hither;Here shall he seeNo enemy,But winter and rough weather.
Who is Sylvia? 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 admirèd 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 Sylvia let us sing,That Sylvia is excelling;She excels each mortal thingUpon the dull earth dwelling:To her let us garlands bring.
Who is Sylvia? 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 admirèd 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 Sylvia let us sing,That Sylvia is excelling;She excels each mortal thingUpon the dull earth dwelling:To her let us garlands bring.
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,O, prepare it;My part of death no one so trueDid share it.Not a flower, not a flower sweet,On my black coffin let there be strown;Not a friend, not a friend greetMy poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown.A thousand thousand sighs to save,Lay me, O, whereSad true lover ne'er find my graveTo weep there.
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,O, prepare it;My part of death no one so trueDid share it.
Not a flower, not a flower sweet,On my black coffin let there be strown;Not a friend, not a friend greetMy poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown.A thousand thousand sighs to save,Lay me, O, whereSad true lover ne'er find my graveTo weep there.
Full fathom five thy father lies:Of his bones are coral made;Those are pearls that were his eyes:Nothing of him that doth fade,But doth suffer a sea-changeInto something rich and strange.Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:Hark! now I hear them,—Ding, dong, bell.
Full fathom five thy father lies:Of his bones are coral made;Those are pearls that were his eyes:Nothing of him that doth fade,But doth suffer a sea-changeInto something rich and strange.Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:Hark! now I hear them,—Ding, dong, bell.
How should I your true love knowFrom another one?By his cockle hat and staff,And his sandal shoon.He is dead and gone, lady,He is dead and gone;At his head a grass-green turf,At his heels a stone.White his shroud as the mountain snow,Larded with sweet flowers;Which bewept to the grave did goWith true-love showers.And will he not come again?And will he not come again?No, no, he is dead:Go to thy death-bed:He never will come again.His beard was as white as snow,All flaxen was his poll:He is gone, he is gone,And we cast away moan:God ha' mercy on his soul!
How should I your true love knowFrom another one?By his cockle hat and staff,And his sandal shoon.
He is dead and gone, lady,He is dead and gone;At his head a grass-green turf,At his heels a stone.
White his shroud as the mountain snow,Larded with sweet flowers;Which bewept to the grave did goWith true-love showers.
And will he not come again?And will he not come again?No, no, he is dead:Go to thy death-bed:He never will come again.
His beard was as white as snow,All flaxen was his poll:He is gone, he is gone,And we cast away moan:God ha' mercy on his soul!
When daisies pied and violets blue,And lady-smocks all silver-white,And cuckoo-buds of yellow hueDo paint the meadows with delight,The cuckoo then, on every tree,Mocks married men; for thus sings he, Cuckoo;Cuckoo, cuckoo: O word of fear,Unpleasing to a married ear!When shepherds pipe on oaten straws,And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks,When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws,And maidens bleach their summer smocks,The cuckoo then, on every tree,Mocks married men; for thus sings he, Cuckoo;Cuckoo, cuckoo: O word of fear,Unpleasing to a married ear!
When daisies pied and violets blue,And lady-smocks all silver-white,And cuckoo-buds of yellow hueDo paint the meadows with delight,The cuckoo then, on every tree,Mocks married men; for thus sings he, Cuckoo;Cuckoo, cuckoo: O word of fear,Unpleasing to a married ear!
When shepherds pipe on oaten straws,And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks,When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws,And maidens bleach their summer smocks,The cuckoo then, on every tree,Mocks married men; for thus sings he, Cuckoo;Cuckoo, cuckoo: O word of fear,Unpleasing to a married ear!
It was a lover and his lass,With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,That o'er the green cornfield did passIn the spring time, the only pretty ring time,When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding: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.This carol they began that hour,With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,How that a life was but a flowerIn spring time, etc.And therefore take the present time,With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino;For love is crowned with the primeIn spring time, etc.
It was a lover and his lass,With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,That o'er the green cornfield did passIn the spring time, the only pretty ring time,When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding: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.
This carol they began that hour,With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,How that a life was but a flowerIn spring time, etc.
And therefore take the present time,With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino;For love is crowned with the primeIn 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,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;Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty,Youth's a stuff will not endure.
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,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;Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty,Youth's a stuff will not endure.
Orpheus with his lute made trees,And the mountain tops that freeze,Bow themselves when he did sing:To his music plants and flowersEver sprung; as sun and showersThere had made a lasting spring.Every thing that heard him play,Even the billows of the sea,Hung their heads, and then lay by.In sweet music is such art,Killing-care and grief-of-heartFall asleep, or hearing, die.
Orpheus with his lute made trees,And the mountain tops that freeze,Bow themselves when he did sing:To his music plants and flowersEver sprung; as sun and showersThere had made a lasting spring.
Every thing that heard him play,Even the billows of the sea,Hung their heads, and then lay by.In sweet music is such art,Killing-care and grief-of-heartFall asleep, or hearing, die.
Lawn as white as driven snow;Cypress black as e'er was crow;Gloves as sweet as damask roses;Masks for faces and for noses;Bugle bracelet, necklace amber,Perfume for a lady's chamber;Golden quoifs and stomachers,For my lads to give their dears:Pins and poking-sticks of steel,What maids lack from head to heel:Come buy of me, come; come buy, come buy;Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry:Come buy.
Lawn as white as driven snow;Cypress black as e'er was crow;Gloves as sweet as damask roses;Masks for faces and for noses;Bugle bracelet, necklace amber,Perfume for a lady's chamber;Golden quoifs and stomachers,For my lads to give their dears:Pins and poking-sticks of steel,What maids lack from head to heel:Come buy of me, come; come buy, come buy;Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry:Come buy.
And let me the canakin clink, clink;And let me the canakin clink:A soldier's a man;A life's but a span;Why, then, let a soldier drink.King Stephen was a worthy peer,His breeches cost him but a crown;He held them sixpence all too dear,With that he call'd the tailor lown.He was a wight of high renown,And thou art but of low degree:'Tis pride that pulls the country down;Then take thine auld cloak about thee.
And let me the canakin clink, clink;And let me the canakin clink:A soldier's a man;A life's but a span;Why, then, let a soldier drink.
King Stephen was a worthy peer,His breeches cost him but a crown;He held them sixpence all too dear,With that he call'd the tailor lown.
He was a wight of high renown,And thou art but of low degree:'Tis pride that pulls the country down;Then take thine auld cloak about thee.
Doubt thou the stars are fire;Doubt that the sun doth move;Doubt truth to be a liar;But never doubt I love.
Doubt thou the stars are fire;Doubt that the sun doth move;Doubt truth to be a liar;But never doubt I love.
Where the bee sucks, there lurk I;In a cowslip's bell I lie;There I couch when owls do cry.On the bat's back I do flyAfter summer merrily.Merrily, merrily shall I live nowUnder the blossom that hangs on the bough.
Where the bee sucks, there lurk I;In a cowslip's bell I lie;There I couch when owls do cry.On the bat's back I do flyAfter summer merrily.Merrily, merrily shall I live nowUnder the blossom that hangs on the bough.
Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more;Men were deceivers ever;One foot in sea, and one on shore;To one thing constant never;Then sigh not so,But let them go,And be you blithe and bonny;Converting all your sounds of woeInto, Hey nonny, nonny.Sing no more ditties, sing no moOf dumps so dull and heavy;The fraud of men was ever so,Since summer first was leavy,Then sigh not so,But let them go,And be you blithe and bonny;Converting all your sounds of woe,Into, Hey nonny, nonny.
Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more;Men were deceivers ever;One foot in sea, and one on shore;To one thing constant never;Then sigh not so,But let them go,And be you blithe and bonny;Converting all your sounds of woeInto, Hey nonny, nonny.
Sing no more ditties, sing no moOf dumps so dull and heavy;The fraud of men was ever so,Since summer first was leavy,Then sigh not so,But let them go,And be you blithe and bonny;Converting all your sounds of woe,Into, Hey nonny, nonny.
When daffodils begin to peer,With heigh! the doxy over the dale,Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year;For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale.The white sheet bleaching on the hedge,With heigh! the sweet birds, O, how they sing!Doth set my pugging tooth on edge;For a quart of ale is a dish for a king.The lark, that tirra-lyra chants,With heigh! with heigh! the thrush and the jay,Are summer songs for me and my aunts,While we lie tumbling in the hay.But shall I go mourn for that, my dear?The pale moon shines by night:And when I wander here and there,I then do most go right.If tinkers may have leave to live,And bear the sow-skin budget,Then my account I well may give,And in the stocks avouch it.
When daffodils begin to peer,With heigh! the doxy over the dale,Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year;For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale.
The white sheet bleaching on the hedge,With heigh! the sweet birds, O, how they sing!Doth set my pugging tooth on edge;For a quart of ale is a dish for a king.
The lark, that tirra-lyra chants,With heigh! with heigh! the thrush and the jay,Are summer songs for me and my aunts,While we lie tumbling in the hay.
But shall I go mourn for that, my dear?The pale moon shines by night:And when I wander here and there,I then do most go right.
If tinkers may have leave to live,And bear the sow-skin budget,Then my account I well may give,And in the stocks avouch it.
(Cloten's Song)
Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,And Phœbus 'gins arise,His steeds to water at those springs,On chalic'd flowers that lies;And winking Mary-buds beginTo ope their golden eyes;With every thing that pretty bin;My lady sweet, arise.
Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,And Phœbus 'gins arise,His steeds to water at those springs,On chalic'd flowers that lies;
And winking Mary-buds beginTo ope their golden eyes;With every thing that pretty bin;My lady sweet, arise.
Over hill, over dale,Thorough bush, thorough brier,Over park, over pale,Thorough flood, thorough fire,I do wander everywhere,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;Those be rubies, fairy favours,In those freckles live their savours;I must go seek some dewdrops here,And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.
Over hill, over dale,Thorough bush, thorough brier,Over park, over pale,Thorough flood, thorough fire,I do wander everywhere,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;Those be rubies, fairy favours,In those freckles live their savours;I must go seek some dewdrops here,And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.
Was this fair face the cause, quoth she,Why the Grecians sacked Troy?Fond done, done fond,Was this King Priam's joy?With that she sighèd as she stood,With that she sighèd as she stood,And gave this sentence then;Among nine bad if one be good,Among nine bad if one be good,There's yet one good in ten.
Was this fair face the cause, quoth she,Why the Grecians sacked Troy?Fond done, done fond,Was this King Priam's joy?With that she sighèd as she stood,With that she sighèd as she stood,And gave this sentence then;Among nine bad if one be good,Among nine bad if one be good,There's yet one good in ten.
Now the hungry lion roars,And the wolf behowls the moon;Whilst the heavy ploughman snores,All with weary task fordone.Now the wasted brands do glow,While the screech-owl, screeching loud,Puts the wretch, that lies in woe,In remembrance of a shroud.Now it is the time of nightThat the graves, all gaping wide,Every one lets forth his sprite,In the church-way paths to glide;And we fairies, that do runBy the triple Hecate's team,From the presence of the sun,Following darkness like a dream,Now are frolic; not a mouseShall disturb this hallow'd house:I am sent with broom before,To sweep the dust behind the door.Through the house give glimmering light,By the dead and drowsy fire:Every elf and fairy spriteHop as light as bird from brier;And this ditty, after me,Sing, and dance it trippingly.First, rehearse your song by rote,To each word a warbling note:Hand in hand, with fairy grace,Will we sing, and bless this place.
Now the hungry lion roars,And the wolf behowls the moon;Whilst the heavy ploughman snores,All with weary task fordone.Now the wasted brands do glow,While the screech-owl, screeching loud,Puts the wretch, that lies in woe,In remembrance of a shroud.Now it is the time of nightThat the graves, all gaping wide,Every one lets forth his sprite,In the church-way paths to glide;And we fairies, that do runBy the triple Hecate's team,From the presence of the sun,Following darkness like a dream,Now are frolic; not a mouseShall disturb this hallow'd house:I am sent with broom before,To sweep the dust behind the door.Through the house give glimmering light,By the dead and drowsy fire:Every elf and fairy spriteHop as light as bird from brier;And this ditty, after me,Sing, and dance it trippingly.First, rehearse your song by rote,To each word a warbling note:Hand in hand, with fairy grace,Will we sing, and bless this place.
You spotted snakes with double tongue,Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen;Newts and blind-worms, do no wrong,Come not near our fairy queen.Philomel, with melodySing in our sweet lullaby;Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby.Never harm,Nor spell nor charm,Come our lovely lady nigh;So, good-night, with lullaby.Weaving Spiders, come not here;Hence, you long-legg'd spinners, hence!Beetles black, approach not near;Worm nor snail, do no offence.Philomel, with melodySing in our sweet lullaby;Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby.Never harm,Nor spell nor charm,Come our lovely lady nigh;So, good-night, with lullaby.
You spotted snakes with double tongue,Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen;Newts and blind-worms, do no wrong,Come not near our fairy queen.
Philomel, with melodySing in our sweet lullaby;Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby.Never harm,Nor spell nor charm,Come our lovely lady nigh;So, good-night, with lullaby.
Weaving Spiders, come not here;Hence, you long-legg'd spinners, hence!Beetles black, approach not near;Worm nor snail, do no offence.
Philomel, with melodySing in our sweet lullaby;Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby.Never harm,Nor spell nor charm,Come our lovely lady nigh;So, good-night, with lullaby.
Tell me where is fancy bred,Or in the heart or in the head?How begot, how nourished?Reply, reply.It is engender'd in the eyes,With gazing fed: and fancy diesIn the cradle where it lies.Let us all ring fancy's knell:I'll begin it,—Ding, dong, bell.Ding, dong, bell.
Tell me where is fancy bred,Or in the heart or in the head?How begot, how nourished?Reply, reply.It is engender'd in the eyes,With gazing fed: and fancy diesIn the cradle where it lies.Let us all ring fancy's knell:I'll begin it,—Ding, dong, bell.Ding, dong, bell.
There is a garden in her face,Where roses and white lilies grow;A heavenly paradise is that place,Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow;There cherries grow that none may buyTill 'Cherry-ripe' themselves do cry.Those cherries fairly do encloseOf orient pearl a double row,Which, when her lovely laughter shows,They look like rosebuds fill'd with snow;Yet them no peer nor prince may buyTill 'Cherry-ripe' themselves do cry.Her eyes like angels watch them still,Her brows like bended bows do stand,Threat'ning with piercing frowns to killAll that approach with eye or handThese sacred cherries to come nigh,Till 'Cherry-ripe' themselves do cry.
There is a garden in her face,Where roses and white lilies grow;A heavenly paradise is that place,Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow;There cherries grow that none may buyTill 'Cherry-ripe' themselves do cry.
Those cherries fairly do encloseOf orient pearl a double row,Which, when her lovely laughter shows,They look like rosebuds fill'd with snow;Yet them no peer nor prince may buyTill 'Cherry-ripe' themselves do cry.
Her eyes like angels watch them still,Her brows like bended bows do stand,Threat'ning with piercing frowns to killAll that approach with eye or handThese sacred cherries to come nigh,Till 'Cherry-ripe' themselves do cry.
Rose-cheeked Laura, come;Sing thou smoothly with thy beauty'sSilent music, either otherSweetly gracing.Lovely forms do flowFrom consent divinely framed;Heaven is music, and thy beauty'sBirth is heavenly.These dull notes we singDiscords need for helps to grace them,Only beauty purely lovingKnows no discord,But still moves delight,Like clear springs renewed by flowing,Ever perfect, ever in them-Selves eternal.
Rose-cheeked Laura, come;Sing thou smoothly with thy beauty'sSilent music, either otherSweetly gracing.Lovely forms do flowFrom consent divinely framed;Heaven is music, and thy beauty'sBirth is heavenly.
These dull notes we singDiscords need for helps to grace them,Only beauty purely lovingKnows no discord,But still moves delight,Like clear springs renewed by flowing,Ever perfect, ever in them-Selves eternal.
Come, cheerful day, part of my life to me;For while thou view'st me with thy fading lightPart of my life doth still depart with thee,And I still onward haste to my last night:Time's fatal wings do ever forward fly—So every day we live, a day we die.But O ye nights, ordain'd for barren rest,How are my days deprived of life in youWhen heavy sleep my soul hath dispossest,By feignèd death life sweetly to renew;Part of my life, in that, you life deny:So every day we live, a day we die.
Come, cheerful day, part of my life to me;For while thou view'st me with thy fading lightPart of my life doth still depart with thee,And I still onward haste to my last night:Time's fatal wings do ever forward fly—So every day we live, a day we die.
But O ye nights, ordain'd for barren rest,How are my days deprived of life in youWhen heavy sleep my soul hath dispossest,By feignèd death life sweetly to renew;Part of my life, in that, you life deny:So every day we live, a day we die.
Follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow!Though thou be black as nightAnd she made all of light,Yet follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow!Follow her, whose light thy light depriveth!Though here thou liv'st disgraced,And she in heaven is placed,Yet follow her whose light the world reviveth!Follow those pure beams, whose beauty burneth,That so have scorchèd theeAs thou still black must beTill her kind beams thy black to brightness turneth.Follow her, while yet her glory shineth!There comes a luckless nightThat will dim all her light;—And this the black unhappy shade divineth.Follow still, since so thy fates ordainèd!The sun must have his shade,Till both at once do fade,—The sun still proved, the shadow still disdainèd.
Follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow!Though thou be black as nightAnd she made all of light,Yet follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow!
Follow her, whose light thy light depriveth!Though here thou liv'st disgraced,And she in heaven is placed,Yet follow her whose light the world reviveth!
Follow those pure beams, whose beauty burneth,That so have scorchèd theeAs thou still black must beTill her kind beams thy black to brightness turneth.
Follow her, while yet her glory shineth!There comes a luckless nightThat will dim all her light;—And this the black unhappy shade divineth.
Follow still, since so thy fates ordainèd!The sun must have his shade,Till both at once do fade,—The sun still proved, the shadow still disdainèd.
Drink to me only with thine eyes,And I will pledge with mine,Or leave a kiss but in the cupAnd I'll not look for wine.The thirst that from the soul doth riseDoth ask a drink divine;But might I of Jove's nectar sup,I would not change for thine.I sent thee late a rosy wreath,Not so much honouring theeAs giving it a hope that thereIt could not wither'd be;But thou thereon didst only breatheAnd sent'st it back to me;Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,Not of itself, but thee!
Drink to me only with thine eyes,And I will pledge with mine,Or leave a kiss but in the cupAnd I'll not look for wine.The thirst that from the soul doth riseDoth ask a drink divine;But might I of Jove's nectar sup,I would not change for thine.I sent thee late a rosy wreath,Not so much honouring theeAs giving it a hope that thereIt could not wither'd be;But thou thereon didst only breatheAnd sent'st it back to me;Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,Not of itself, but thee!
Queen and huntress, chaste and fair,Now the sun is laid to sleep,Seated in thy silver chair,State in wonted manner keep.Hesperus entreats thy light,Goddess excellently bright!Earth, let not thy envious shadeDare itself to interpose;Cynthia's shining orb was madeHeaven to clear, when day did close.Bless us then with wishèd sight,Goddess excellently bright!Lay thy bow of pearl apart,And thy crystal-shining quiver,Give unto the flying hartSpace to breathe how short soever;Thou that mak'st a day of night,Goddess excellently bright!
Queen and huntress, chaste and fair,Now the sun is laid to sleep,Seated in thy silver chair,State in wonted manner keep.Hesperus entreats thy light,Goddess excellently bright!
Earth, let not thy envious shadeDare itself to interpose;Cynthia's shining orb was madeHeaven to clear, when day did close.Bless us then with wishèd sight,Goddess excellently bright!
Lay thy bow of pearl apart,And thy crystal-shining quiver,Give unto the flying hartSpace to breathe how short soever;Thou that mak'st a day of night,Goddess excellently bright!
Still to be neat, still to be drest,As you were going to a feast:Still to be poud'red, still perfum'd:Lady, it is to be presum'd,Though art's hid causes are not found,All is not sweet, all is not sound.Give me a looke, give me a face,That makes simplicitie a grace;Robes loosely flowing, haire as free:Such sweet neglect more taketh me,Than all th' adulteries of art,That strike mine eyes, but not my heart.
Still to be neat, still to be drest,As you were going to a feast:Still to be poud'red, still perfum'd:Lady, it is to be presum'd,Though art's hid causes are not found,All is not sweet, all is not sound.
Give me a looke, give me a face,That makes simplicitie a grace;Robes loosely flowing, haire as free:Such sweet neglect more taketh me,Than all th' adulteries of art,That strike mine eyes, but not my heart.
When Hercules did use to spin,And Pallas wrought upon the loom,Our trade to flourish did begin,While conscience went not selling broom;Then love and friendship did agreeTo keep the bands of amity.When princes' sons kept sheep in field,And queens made cakes of wheated flour,The men to lucre did not yield,Which brought good cheer in every bower;Then love and friendship ...But when the Gyants huge and high,Did fight with spears like weavers' beams,Then they in iron beds did lye,And brought poor men to hard extreams;Yet love and friendship ...Then David took his sling and stone,Not fearing great Goliah's strength,He pierc't his brains, and broke the bone,Though he were fifty foot of length;For love and friendship ...But while the Greeks besiegèd Troy,Penelope apace did spin;And weavers wrought with mickle joy,Though little gains were coming in;For love and friendship ...Had Helen then sate carding wooll,(Whose beauteous face did breed such strife),She had not been Sir Paris' trull,Nor caused so many to lose their life;Yet we by love did still agreeTo hold the bands of amity.Or had King Priam's wanton sonBeen making quills with sweet content,He had not then his friends undone,When he to Greece a-gadding went;For love and friendship ...The cedar-trees endure more stormsThen little shrubs that sprout on high;The weavers live more void of harmsThen princes of great dignity;While love and friendship doth agree ...The shepherd sitting in the fieldDoth tune his pipe with heart's delight;When princes watch with spear and shield,The poor man soundly sleeps all night;While love and friendship doth agree ...Yet this by proof is daily try'd,For God's good gifts we are ingrate,And no man through the world so wideLives well contented with his state;No love and friendship we can seeTo hold the bands of amity.
When Hercules did use to spin,And Pallas wrought upon the loom,Our trade to flourish did begin,While conscience went not selling broom;Then love and friendship did agreeTo keep the bands of amity.
When princes' sons kept sheep in field,And queens made cakes of wheated flour,The men to lucre did not yield,Which brought good cheer in every bower;Then love and friendship ...
But when the Gyants huge and high,Did fight with spears like weavers' beams,Then they in iron beds did lye,And brought poor men to hard extreams;Yet love and friendship ...
Then David took his sling and stone,Not fearing great Goliah's strength,He pierc't his brains, and broke the bone,Though he were fifty foot of length;For love and friendship ...
But while the Greeks besiegèd Troy,Penelope apace did spin;And weavers wrought with mickle joy,Though little gains were coming in;For love and friendship ...
Had Helen then sate carding wooll,(Whose beauteous face did breed such strife),She had not been Sir Paris' trull,Nor caused so many to lose their life;Yet we by love did still agreeTo hold the bands of amity.
Or had King Priam's wanton sonBeen making quills with sweet content,He had not then his friends undone,When he to Greece a-gadding went;For love and friendship ...
The cedar-trees endure more stormsThen little shrubs that sprout on high;The weavers live more void of harmsThen princes of great dignity;While love and friendship doth agree ...
The shepherd sitting in the fieldDoth tune his pipe with heart's delight;When princes watch with spear and shield,The poor man soundly sleeps all night;While love and friendship doth agree ...
Yet this by proof is daily try'd,For God's good gifts we are ingrate,And no man through the world so wideLives well contented with his state;No love and friendship we can seeTo hold the bands of amity.
Hang fear, cast away care,The parish is bound to find usThou and I, and all must die,And leave this world behind us.The bells shall ring, the clerk shall sing,And the good old wife shall winde us;And the sexton shall lay our bodies in the clay,Where nobody shall find us.
Hang fear, cast away care,The parish is bound to find usThou and I, and all must die,And leave this world behind us.The bells shall ring, the clerk shall sing,And the good old wife shall winde us;And the sexton shall lay our bodies in the clay,Where nobody shall find us.
From Oberon, in fairy land,The king of ghosts and shadows there,Mad Robin I, at his command,Am sent to view the night-sports here.What revel routIs kept about,In every corner where I go,I will o'ersee,And merry be,And make good sport, with ho, ho, ho!More swift than lightning can I flyAbout this airy welkin soon,And, in a minute's space, descryEach thing that's done below the moon.There's not a hagOr ghost shall wag,Or cry, 'ware goblins! where I go;But Robin ITheir feats will spy,And send them home with ho, ho, ho!Whene'er such wanderers I meet,As from their night-sports they trudge home,With counterfeiting voice I greet,And call them on with me to roam:Through woods, through lakes;Through bogs, through brakes;Or else, unseen, with them I go,All in the nick,To play some trick,And frolic it, with ho, ho, ho!Sometimes I meet them like a man,Sometimes an ox, sometimes a hound;And to a horse I turn me can,To trip and trot about them round.But if to rideMy back they stride,More swift than wind away I go,O'er hedge and lands,Through pools and ponds,I hurry, laughing, ho, ho, ho!When lads and lasses merry be,With possets and with junkets fine;Unseen of all the company,I eat their cakes and sip their wine!And, to make sport,I puff and snort:And out the candles I do blow:The maids I kiss,They shriek—Who's this?I answer nought but ho, ho, ho!Yet now and then, the maids to please,At midnight I card up their wool;And, while they sleep and take their ease,With wheel to threads their flax I pull.I grind at millTheir malt up still;I dress their hemp; I spin their tow;If any wake,And would me take,I wend me, laughing, ho, ho, ho!When any need to borrow aught,We lend them what they do require:And, for the use demand we nought;Our own is all we do desire.If to repayThey do delay,Abroad amongst them then I go,And night by night,I them affright,With pinchings, dreams, and ho, ho, ho!When lazy queans have nought to do,But study how to cog and lie:To make debate and mischief too,'Twixt one another secretly:I mark their gloze,And it discloseTo them whom they have wronged so:When I have done,I get me gone,And leave them scolding, ho, ho, ho!When men do traps and engines setIn loop-holes, where the vermin creep,Who from their folds and houses getTheir ducks and geese, and lambs and sheep;I spy the gin,And enter in,And seem a vermin taken so;But when they thereApproach me near,I leap out laughing, ho, ho, ho!By wells and rills, in meadows green,We nightly dance our heyday guise;And to our fairy king and queen,We chant our moonlight minstrelsies.When larks 'gin sing,Away we fling;And babes new born steal as we go;And elf in bedWe leave in stead,And wend us laughing, ho, ho, ho!From hag-bred Merlin's time, have IThus nightly revelled to and fro;And for my pranks men call me byThe name of Robin Good-fellow.Fiends, ghosts, and sprites,Who haunt the nights,The hags and goblins do me know;And beldames oldMy feats have told,So vale, vale; ho, ho, ho!
From Oberon, in fairy land,The king of ghosts and shadows there,Mad Robin I, at his command,Am sent to view the night-sports here.What revel routIs kept about,In every corner where I go,I will o'ersee,And merry be,And make good sport, with ho, ho, ho!
More swift than lightning can I flyAbout this airy welkin soon,And, in a minute's space, descryEach thing that's done below the moon.There's not a hagOr ghost shall wag,Or cry, 'ware goblins! where I go;But Robin ITheir feats will spy,And send them home with ho, ho, ho!
Whene'er such wanderers I meet,As from their night-sports they trudge home,With counterfeiting voice I greet,And call them on with me to roam:Through woods, through lakes;Through bogs, through brakes;Or else, unseen, with them I go,All in the nick,To play some trick,And frolic it, with ho, ho, ho!
Sometimes I meet them like a man,Sometimes an ox, sometimes a hound;And to a horse I turn me can,To trip and trot about them round.But if to rideMy back they stride,More swift than wind away I go,O'er hedge and lands,Through pools and ponds,I hurry, laughing, ho, ho, ho!
When lads and lasses merry be,With possets and with junkets fine;Unseen of all the company,I eat their cakes and sip their wine!And, to make sport,I puff and snort:And out the candles I do blow:The maids I kiss,They shriek—Who's this?I answer nought but ho, ho, ho!
Yet now and then, the maids to please,At midnight I card up their wool;And, while they sleep and take their ease,With wheel to threads their flax I pull.I grind at millTheir malt up still;I dress their hemp; I spin their tow;If any wake,And would me take,I wend me, laughing, ho, ho, ho!
When any need to borrow aught,We lend them what they do require:And, for the use demand we nought;Our own is all we do desire.If to repayThey do delay,Abroad amongst them then I go,And night by night,I them affright,With pinchings, dreams, and ho, ho, ho!
When lazy queans have nought to do,But study how to cog and lie:To make debate and mischief too,'Twixt one another secretly:I mark their gloze,And it discloseTo them whom they have wronged so:When I have done,I get me gone,And leave them scolding, ho, ho, ho!
When men do traps and engines setIn loop-holes, where the vermin creep,Who from their folds and houses getTheir ducks and geese, and lambs and sheep;I spy the gin,And enter in,And seem a vermin taken so;But when they thereApproach me near,I leap out laughing, ho, ho, ho!
By wells and rills, in meadows green,We nightly dance our heyday guise;And to our fairy king and queen,We chant our moonlight minstrelsies.When larks 'gin sing,Away we fling;And babes new born steal as we go;And elf in bedWe leave in stead,And wend us laughing, ho, ho, ho!
From hag-bred Merlin's time, have IThus nightly revelled to and fro;And for my pranks men call me byThe name of Robin Good-fellow.Fiends, ghosts, and sprites,Who haunt the nights,The hags and goblins do me know;And beldames oldMy feats have told,So vale, vale; ho, ho, ho!