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.
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.
Second Fairy
Weaving spiders, come not here;Hence, you long-legg'd spinners, hence;Beetles black, approach not near;Worm, nor snail, do no offence.
Weaving spiders, come not here;Hence, you long-legg'd spinners, hence;Beetles black, approach not near;Worm, nor snail, do no offence.
Chorus
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.
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.
W. Shakespeare
Lord Thomas he was a bold forester,And a chaser of the king's deer;Fair Ellinor was a fine woman,And Lord Thomas he loved her dear.'Come riddle my riddle, dear mother,' he said,'And riddle us both as one;Whether I shall marry with fair Ellinor,And let the brown girl alone?''The brown girl she has got houses and land,And fair Ellinor she has got none;Therefore I charge you on my blessing,Bring me the brown girl home.'As it befell on a high holiday,As many more did beside,Lord Thomas he went to fair Ellinor,That should have been his bride.But when he came to fair Ellinor's bower,He knocked there at the ring;But who was so ready as fair EllinorFor to let Lord Thomas in.'What news, what news, Lord Thomas?' she said,'What news hast thou brought unto me?''I am come to bid thee to my wedding,And that is bad news for thee.''O, God forbid, Lord Thomas,' she said,'That such a thing should be done.I thought to have been thy bride my own self,And you to have been the bridegroom.''Come riddle my riddle, dear mother,' she said,'And riddle it all in one;Whether I shall go to Lord Thomas's wedding,Or whether I shall tarry at home?''There are many that are your friends, daughter,And many that are your foe;Therefore I charge you on my blessing,To Lord Thomas's wedding don't go.''There's many that are my friends, motherAnd if a thousand more were my foe,Betide my life, betide my death,To Lord Thomas's wedding I'll go.'She clothed herself in gallant attire,And her merry men all in green;And as they rid through every town,They took her to be some queen.But when she came to Lord Thomas's gate,She knocked there at the ring;But who was so ready as Lord Thomas,To let fair Ellinor in.'Is this your bride?' fair Ellinor said;'Methinks she looks wonderful brown;Thou might'st have had as fair a woman,As ever trod on the ground.''Despise her not, fair Ellin,' he said,'Despise her not unto me;For better I love thy little finger,Than all her whole body.'This brown bride had a little penknife,That was both long and sharp,And betwixt the short ribs and the long,Prick'd fair Ellinor to the heart.'Now Heaven save thee,' Lord Thomas he said,'Methinks thou look'st wondrous wan:Thou used to look with as fresh a colour,As ever the sun shined on.''O, art thou blind, Lord Thomas?' she said,'Or canst thou not very well see?O, dost thou not see my own heart's bloodRun trickling down my knee?'Lord Thomas he had a sword by his side;As he walked about the hall,He cut off his bride's head from her shoulders,And threw it against the wall.He set the hilt against the ground,And the point against his heart;There never were three lovers met,That sooner did depart.
Lord Thomas he was a bold forester,And a chaser of the king's deer;Fair Ellinor was a fine woman,And Lord Thomas he loved her dear.
'Come riddle my riddle, dear mother,' he said,'And riddle us both as one;Whether I shall marry with fair Ellinor,And let the brown girl alone?'
'The brown girl she has got houses and land,And fair Ellinor she has got none;Therefore I charge you on my blessing,Bring me the brown girl home.'
As it befell on a high holiday,As many more did beside,Lord Thomas he went to fair Ellinor,That should have been his bride.
But when he came to fair Ellinor's bower,He knocked there at the ring;But who was so ready as fair EllinorFor to let Lord Thomas in.
'What news, what news, Lord Thomas?' she said,'What news hast thou brought unto me?''I am come to bid thee to my wedding,And that is bad news for thee.'
'O, God forbid, Lord Thomas,' she said,'That such a thing should be done.I thought to have been thy bride my own self,And you to have been the bridegroom.'
'Come riddle my riddle, dear mother,' she said,'And riddle it all in one;Whether I shall go to Lord Thomas's wedding,Or whether I shall tarry at home?'
'There are many that are your friends, daughter,And many that are your foe;Therefore I charge you on my blessing,To Lord Thomas's wedding don't go.'
'There's many that are my friends, motherAnd if a thousand more were my foe,Betide my life, betide my death,To Lord Thomas's wedding I'll go.'
She clothed herself in gallant attire,And her merry men all in green;And as they rid through every town,They took her to be some queen.
But when she came to Lord Thomas's gate,She knocked there at the ring;But who was so ready as Lord Thomas,To let fair Ellinor in.
'Is this your bride?' fair Ellinor said;'Methinks she looks wonderful brown;Thou might'st have had as fair a woman,As ever trod on the ground.'
'Despise her not, fair Ellin,' he said,'Despise her not unto me;For better I love thy little finger,Than all her whole body.'
This brown bride had a little penknife,That was both long and sharp,And betwixt the short ribs and the long,Prick'd fair Ellinor to the heart.
'Now Heaven save thee,' Lord Thomas he said,'Methinks thou look'st wondrous wan:Thou used to look with as fresh a colour,As ever the sun shined on.'
'O, art thou blind, Lord Thomas?' she said,'Or canst thou not very well see?O, dost thou not see my own heart's bloodRun trickling down my knee?'
Lord Thomas he had a sword by his side;As he walked about the hall,He cut off his bride's head from her shoulders,And threw it against the wall.
He set the hilt against the ground,And the point against his heart;There never were three lovers met,That sooner did depart.
Old Ballad
O then, I see, Queen Mab hath been with you.She is the fairies' midwife, and she comesIn shape no bigger than an agate stoneOn the fore-finger of an alderman;Drawn with a team of little atomiesAthwart men's noses as they lie asleep:Her wagon spokes made of long spinner's legs:The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers;The traces, of the smallest spider's web;The collars of the moonshine's watery beams;Her whip of cricket's bone, the lash, of film;Her wagoner, a small grey-coated gnat,Not half so big as a round little worm,Pricked from the lazy finger of a maid:Her chariot is an empty hazel nut,Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub,Time out of mind the fairies' coachmakers.And in this state she gallops night by night,Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love;On courtiers' knees that dream on court'sies straight;O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees;O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream.
O then, I see, Queen Mab hath been with you.She is the fairies' midwife, and she comesIn shape no bigger than an agate stoneOn the fore-finger of an alderman;Drawn with a team of little atomiesAthwart men's noses as they lie asleep:Her wagon spokes made of long spinner's legs:The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers;The traces, of the smallest spider's web;The collars of the moonshine's watery beams;Her whip of cricket's bone, the lash, of film;Her wagoner, a small grey-coated gnat,Not half so big as a round little worm,Pricked from the lazy finger of a maid:Her chariot is an empty hazel nut,Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub,Time out of mind the fairies' coachmakers.And in this state she gallops night by night,Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love;On courtiers' knees that dream on court'sies straight;O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees;O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream.
W. Shakespeare
O, young Lochinvar is come out of the West!Through all the wide Border his steed is the best;And save his good broadsword he weapon had none;He rode all unarm'd and he rode all alone.So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,There never was knight like the young Lochinvar!He stay'd not for brake and he stopt not for stone;He swam the Eske river where ford there was none;But ere he alighted at Netherby gate,The bride had consented; the gallant came late;For a laggard in love and a dastard in war,Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.So bravely he enter'd the Netherby Hall,Among bridesmen and kinsmen and brothers and all,Then spake the bride's father, his hand on his sword,For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,'O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?''I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied;Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide;And now I am come with this lost love of mineTo lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far,That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar!'The bride kiss'd the goblet, the knight took it up,He quaff'd off the wine and he threw down the cup;She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up to sigh,With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye.He took her soft hand ere her mother could bar;'Now tread we a measure!' said young Lochinvar.So stately his form, and so lovely her face,That never a hall such a galliard did grace:While her mother did fret and her father did fume,And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume;And the bride-maidens whispered, ''Twere better by farTo have match'd our fair cousin with young Lochinvar!'One touch to her hand and one word in her ear,When they reach'd the hall door; and the charger stood near;So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung,So light to the saddle before her he sprung!'She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush and scaur,They'll have fleet steeds that follow!' cried young Lochinvar.There was mounting 'mong Græmes of the Netherby clan;Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran;There was racing and chasing on Cannobie lea;But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see.So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar!
O, young Lochinvar is come out of the West!Through all the wide Border his steed is the best;And save his good broadsword he weapon had none;He rode all unarm'd and he rode all alone.So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,There never was knight like the young Lochinvar!
He stay'd not for brake and he stopt not for stone;He swam the Eske river where ford there was none;But ere he alighted at Netherby gate,The bride had consented; the gallant came late;For a laggard in love and a dastard in war,Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.
So bravely he enter'd the Netherby Hall,Among bridesmen and kinsmen and brothers and all,Then spake the bride's father, his hand on his sword,For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,'O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?'
'I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied;Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide;And now I am come with this lost love of mineTo lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far,That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar!'
The bride kiss'd the goblet, the knight took it up,He quaff'd off the wine and he threw down the cup;She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up to sigh,With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye.He took her soft hand ere her mother could bar;'Now tread we a measure!' said young Lochinvar.
So stately his form, and so lovely her face,That never a hall such a galliard did grace:While her mother did fret and her father did fume,And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume;And the bride-maidens whispered, ''Twere better by farTo have match'd our fair cousin with young Lochinvar!'
One touch to her hand and one word in her ear,When they reach'd the hall door; and the charger stood near;So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung,So light to the saddle before her he sprung!'She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush and scaur,They'll have fleet steeds that follow!' cried young Lochinvar.
There was mounting 'mong Græmes of the Netherby clan;Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran;There was racing and chasing on Cannobie lea;But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see.So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar!
Sir W. Scott
Characteristic of a Favourite Dog
On his morning rounds the masterGoes to learn how all things fare;Searches pasture after pasture,Sheep and cattle eyes with care;And for silence, or for talk,He hath comrades in his walk;Four dogs each of a different breed,Distinguished, two for scent, and two for speed.See a hare before him started!—Off they fly in earnest chase;Every dog is eager-hearted,All the four are in the race!And the hare whom they pursueKnows from instinct what to do;Her hope is near, no turn she makes;But like an arrow to the river takes.Deep the river was and crustedThinly by a one night's frost;But the nimble hare hath trustedTo the ice, and safely crost;She hath crost, and without heedAll are following at full speed,When lo! the ice so thinly spread,Breaks, and the greyhound Dart is overhead!Better fate have Prince and Swallow—See them cleaving to the sport!Music has no heart to follow,Little Music, she stops short.She hath neither wish nor heart,Hers is now another part:A loving creature she, and brave!And fondly strives her struggling friend to save.From the brink her paws she stretches,Very hands as you would say!And afflicting moans she fetches,As he breaks the ice away.For herself she hath no fears,—Him alone she sees and hears,—Makes efforts with complainings; nor gives o'er,Until her fellow sinks to re-appear no more.
On his morning rounds the masterGoes to learn how all things fare;Searches pasture after pasture,Sheep and cattle eyes with care;And for silence, or for talk,He hath comrades in his walk;Four dogs each of a different breed,Distinguished, two for scent, and two for speed.
See a hare before him started!—Off they fly in earnest chase;Every dog is eager-hearted,All the four are in the race!And the hare whom they pursueKnows from instinct what to do;Her hope is near, no turn she makes;But like an arrow to the river takes.
Deep the river was and crustedThinly by a one night's frost;But the nimble hare hath trustedTo the ice, and safely crost;She hath crost, and without heedAll are following at full speed,When lo! the ice so thinly spread,Breaks, and the greyhound Dart is overhead!
Better fate have Prince and Swallow—See them cleaving to the sport!Music has no heart to follow,Little Music, she stops short.She hath neither wish nor heart,Hers is now another part:A loving creature she, and brave!And fondly strives her struggling friend to save.
From the brink her paws she stretches,Very hands as you would say!And afflicting moans she fetches,As he breaks the ice away.For herself she hath no fears,—Him alone she sees and hears,—Makes efforts with complainings; nor gives o'er,Until her fellow sinks to re-appear no more.
W. Wordsworth
King Lear once ruled in this landWith princely power and peace;And had all things with heart's content,That might his joys increase.Amongst those things that nature gave,Three daughters fair had he,So princely seeming, beautiful,As fairer could not be.So on a time it pleased the kingA question thus to move,Which of his daughters to his graceCould show the dearest love:'For to my age you bring content,'Quoth he, 'then let me hear,Which of you three in plighted trothThe kindest will appear.'To whom the eldest thus began:'Dear father mine,' quoth she,'Before your face to do you good,My blood shall rendered be:And for your sake my bleeding heartShall here be cut in twain,Ere that I see your reverend ageThe smallest grief sustain.''And so will I,' the second said,'Dear father, for your sake,The worst of all extremitiesI'll gently undertake:And serve your highness night and dayWith diligence and love;That sweet content and quietnessDiscomforts may remove.''In doing so, you glad my soul,'The aged king replied;'But what say'st thou, my youngest girl,How is thy love ally'd?''My love' quoth young Cordelia then'Which to your grace I owe,Shall be the duty of a child,And that is all I'll show.''And wilt thou show no more,' quoth he,'Than doth thy duty bind?I well perceive thy love is small,When as no more I find.Henceforth I banish thee my court,Thou art no child of mine;Nor any part of this my realmBy favour shall be thine.'Thy elder sisters' loves are moreThan I can well demand,To whom I equally bestowMy kingdom and my land,My pompal state and all my goods,That lovingly I mayWith those thy sisters be maintain'dUntil my dying day.'Thus flattering speeches won renownBy these two sisters here;The third had causeless banishment,Yet was her love more dear:For poor Cordelia patientlyWent wand'ring up and down,Unhelp'd, unpitied, gentle maid,Through many an English town.Until at last in famous FranceShe gentler fortunes found;Though poor and bare, yet she was deem'dThe fairest on the ground:Where, when the king her virtues heard,And this fair lady seen,With full consent of all his court,He made his wife and queen.Her father, King Lear, this whileWith his two daughters stay'd:Forgetful of their promis'd loves,Full soon the same decay'd;And living in Queen Regan's court,The eldest of the twain,She took from him his chiefest means,And most of all his train.For whereas twenty men were wontTo wait with bended knee,She gave allowance but to ten,And after scarce to three;Nay, one she thought too much for him;So took she all away,In hope that in her court, good king,He would no longer stay.'Am I rewarded thus,' quoth he,'In giving all I haveUnto my children, and to begFor what I lately gave?I'll go unto my Gonorell:My second child, I know,Will be more kind and pitiful,And will relieve my woe.'Full fast he hies then to her court;Who, when she heard his moan,Return'd him answer, that she griev'dThat all his means were gone;But no way could relieve his wants;Yet, if that he would stayWithin her kitchen, he should haveWhat scullions gave away.When he had heard with bitter tears,He made his answer then;'In what I did, let me be madeExample to all men.I will return again,' quoth he,'Unto my Regan's court;She will not use me thus, I hope,But in a kinder sort.'Where when he came she gave commandTo drive him thence away:When he was well within her court(She said) he would not stay.Then back again to GonorellThe woful king did hie,That in her kitchen he might haveWhat scullion boys set by.But there of that he was denied,Which she had promised late;For once refusing, he should notCome after to her gate.Thus 'twixt his daughters for reliefHe wander'd up and down;Being glad to feed on beggar's food,That lately wore a crown.And calling to remembrance thenHis youngest daughter's words,That said the duty of a childWas all that love affords;But doubting to repair to herWhom he had banish'd so,Grew frantic mad; for in his mindHe bore the wounds of woe:Which made him rend his milkwhite locksAnd tresses from his head,And all with blood bestain his cheeks,With age and honour spread.To hills and woods and watery fountsHe made his hourly moan,Till hills and woods and senseless thingsDid seem to sigh and groan.Even thus possest with discontents,He passed o'er to France,In hopes from fair Cordelia thereTo find some gentler chance;Most virtuous dame! which when she heardOf this her father's grief,As duty bound she quickly sentHim comfort and relief:And by a train of noble peers,In brave and gallant sort,She gave in charge he should be broughtTo Aganippus' court;Whose royal king with noble mindSo freely gave consentTo muster up his knights at arms,To fame and courage bent.And so to England came with speed,To repossess King LearAnd drive his daughters from their thronesBy his Cordelia dear.Where she, true-hearted noble queen,Was in the battle slain;Yet he, good king, in his old days,Possest his crown again.But when he heard Cordelia's death,Who died indeed for loveOf her dear father, in whose causeShe did this battle move,He swooning fell upon her breast,From whence he never parted:But on her bosom left his life,That was so truly hearted.
King Lear once ruled in this landWith princely power and peace;And had all things with heart's content,That might his joys increase.Amongst those things that nature gave,Three daughters fair had he,So princely seeming, beautiful,As fairer could not be.
So on a time it pleased the kingA question thus to move,Which of his daughters to his graceCould show the dearest love:'For to my age you bring content,'Quoth he, 'then let me hear,Which of you three in plighted trothThe kindest will appear.'
To whom the eldest thus began:'Dear father mine,' quoth she,'Before your face to do you good,My blood shall rendered be:And for your sake my bleeding heartShall here be cut in twain,Ere that I see your reverend ageThe smallest grief sustain.'
'And so will I,' the second said,'Dear father, for your sake,The worst of all extremitiesI'll gently undertake:And serve your highness night and dayWith diligence and love;That sweet content and quietnessDiscomforts may remove.'
'In doing so, you glad my soul,'The aged king replied;'But what say'st thou, my youngest girl,How is thy love ally'd?''My love' quoth young Cordelia then'Which to your grace I owe,Shall be the duty of a child,And that is all I'll show.'
'And wilt thou show no more,' quoth he,'Than doth thy duty bind?I well perceive thy love is small,When as no more I find.Henceforth I banish thee my court,Thou art no child of mine;Nor any part of this my realmBy favour shall be thine.
'Thy elder sisters' loves are moreThan I can well demand,To whom I equally bestowMy kingdom and my land,My pompal state and all my goods,That lovingly I mayWith those thy sisters be maintain'dUntil my dying day.'
Thus flattering speeches won renownBy these two sisters here;The third had causeless banishment,Yet was her love more dear:For poor Cordelia patientlyWent wand'ring up and down,Unhelp'd, unpitied, gentle maid,Through many an English town.
Until at last in famous FranceShe gentler fortunes found;Though poor and bare, yet she was deem'dThe fairest on the ground:Where, when the king her virtues heard,And this fair lady seen,With full consent of all his court,He made his wife and queen.
Her father, King Lear, this whileWith his two daughters stay'd:Forgetful of their promis'd loves,Full soon the same decay'd;And living in Queen Regan's court,The eldest of the twain,She took from him his chiefest means,And most of all his train.
For whereas twenty men were wontTo wait with bended knee,She gave allowance but to ten,And after scarce to three;Nay, one she thought too much for him;So took she all away,In hope that in her court, good king,He would no longer stay.
'Am I rewarded thus,' quoth he,'In giving all I haveUnto my children, and to begFor what I lately gave?I'll go unto my Gonorell:My second child, I know,Will be more kind and pitiful,And will relieve my woe.'
Full fast he hies then to her court;Who, when she heard his moan,Return'd him answer, that she griev'dThat all his means were gone;But no way could relieve his wants;Yet, if that he would stayWithin her kitchen, he should haveWhat scullions gave away.
When he had heard with bitter tears,He made his answer then;'In what I did, let me be madeExample to all men.I will return again,' quoth he,'Unto my Regan's court;She will not use me thus, I hope,But in a kinder sort.'
Where when he came she gave commandTo drive him thence away:When he was well within her court(She said) he would not stay.Then back again to GonorellThe woful king did hie,That in her kitchen he might haveWhat scullion boys set by.
But there of that he was denied,Which she had promised late;For once refusing, he should notCome after to her gate.Thus 'twixt his daughters for reliefHe wander'd up and down;Being glad to feed on beggar's food,That lately wore a crown.
And calling to remembrance thenHis youngest daughter's words,That said the duty of a childWas all that love affords;But doubting to repair to herWhom he had banish'd so,Grew frantic mad; for in his mindHe bore the wounds of woe:
Which made him rend his milkwhite locksAnd tresses from his head,And all with blood bestain his cheeks,With age and honour spread.To hills and woods and watery fountsHe made his hourly moan,Till hills and woods and senseless thingsDid seem to sigh and groan.
Even thus possest with discontents,He passed o'er to France,In hopes from fair Cordelia thereTo find some gentler chance;Most virtuous dame! which when she heardOf this her father's grief,As duty bound she quickly sentHim comfort and relief:
And by a train of noble peers,In brave and gallant sort,She gave in charge he should be broughtTo Aganippus' court;Whose royal king with noble mindSo freely gave consentTo muster up his knights at arms,To fame and courage bent.
And so to England came with speed,To repossess King LearAnd drive his daughters from their thronesBy his Cordelia dear.Where she, true-hearted noble queen,Was in the battle slain;Yet he, good king, in his old days,Possest his crown again.
But when he heard Cordelia's death,Who died indeed for loveOf her dear father, in whose causeShe did this battle move,He swooning fell upon her breast,From whence he never parted:But on her bosom left his life,That was so truly hearted.
Old Ballad
As in the sunshine of the mornA butterfly (but newly born)Sat proudly perking on a rose,With pert conceit his bosom glows;His wings (all glorious to behold)Bedropt with azure, jet, and gold,Wide he displays; the spangled dewReflects his eyes and various hue.His now forgotten friend, a snail,Beneath his house, with slimy trail,Crawls o'er the grass, whom when he spies,In wrath he to the gardener cries:'What means yon peasant's daily toil,From choking weeds to rid the soil?Why wake you to the morning's care?Why with new arts correct the year?Why grows the peach's crimson hue?And why the plum's inviting blue?Were they to feast his taste design'd,That vermin of voracious kind!Crush then the slow, the pilfering race,So purge thy garden from disgrace.''What arrogance!' the snail replied;'How insolent is upstart pride!Hadst thou not thus, with insult vainProvok'd my patience to complain,I had conceal'd thy meaner birth,Nor trac'd thee to the scum of earth;For scarce nine suns have wak'd the hours,To swell the fruit, and paint the flowers,Since I thy humbler life survey'd,In base, in sordid guise array'd.I own my humble life, good friend;Snail was I born and snail shall end.And what's a butterfly? At bestHe's but a caterpillar drest;And all thy race (a numerous seed)Shall prove of caterpillar breed.'
As in the sunshine of the mornA butterfly (but newly born)Sat proudly perking on a rose,With pert conceit his bosom glows;His wings (all glorious to behold)Bedropt with azure, jet, and gold,Wide he displays; the spangled dewReflects his eyes and various hue.His now forgotten friend, a snail,Beneath his house, with slimy trail,Crawls o'er the grass, whom when he spies,In wrath he to the gardener cries:'What means yon peasant's daily toil,From choking weeds to rid the soil?Why wake you to the morning's care?Why with new arts correct the year?Why grows the peach's crimson hue?And why the plum's inviting blue?Were they to feast his taste design'd,That vermin of voracious kind!Crush then the slow, the pilfering race,So purge thy garden from disgrace.''What arrogance!' the snail replied;'How insolent is upstart pride!Hadst thou not thus, with insult vainProvok'd my patience to complain,I had conceal'd thy meaner birth,Nor trac'd thee to the scum of earth;For scarce nine suns have wak'd the hours,To swell the fruit, and paint the flowers,Since I thy humbler life survey'd,In base, in sordid guise array'd.I own my humble life, good friend;Snail was I born and snail shall end.And what's a butterfly? At bestHe's but a caterpillar drest;And all thy race (a numerous seed)Shall prove of caterpillar breed.'
J. Gay
'O where have you been, my long, long, love,This long seven years and more?''O I'm come to seek my former vowsYe granted me before.''O hold your tongue of your former vows,For they will breed sad strife;O hold your tongue of your former vows,For I am become a wife.'He turn'd him right and round about,And the tear blinded his ee;'I would never have trodden on Irish ground,If it had not been for thee.'I might have had a king's daughter,Far, far beyond the sea;I might have had a king's daughter,Had it not been for love of thee.''If ye might have had a king's daughter,Yourself you had to blame;Ye might have taken the king's daughter,For ye knew that I was nane.''O false are the vows of womankind,But fair is their false bodie;I never would have trodden on Irish groundHad it not been for love of thee.''If I was to leave my husband dear,And my two babes also,O what have you to take me to,If with you I should go?''I have seven ships upon the sea,The eighth brought me to land;With four and twenty bold mariners,And music on every hand.'She has taken up her two little babes,Kiss'd them both cheek and chin;'O fare ye well, my own two babes,For I'll never see you again.'She set her foot upon the ship,No mariners could she behold;But the sails were of the taffetie,And the masts of the beaten gold.She had not sail'd a league, a league,A league but barely three,When dismal grew his countenance,And drumlie grew his ee.The masts that were like the beaten goldBent not on the heaving seas;And the sails that were of the taffetieFill'd not in the east land breeze.They had not sail'd a league, a league,A league but barely three,Until she espied his cloven foot,And she wept right bitterly.'O hold your tongue of your weeping,' says he,'Of your weeping now let me be;I will show you how the lilies growOn the banks of Italy.''O what hills are yon, yon pleasant hills,That the sun shines sweetly on?''O yon are the hills of heaven,' he said,'Where you will never won.''O what a mountain is yon,' she said,'All so dreary with frost and snow?''O yon is the mountain of hell,' he cried,'Where you and I will go.'And aye when she turn'd her round aboutAye taller he seem'd for to be;Until that the tops of that gallant shipNo taller were than he.The clouds grew dark and the wind grew loud,And the levin filled her ee;And waesome wail'd the snow-white spritesUpon the gurlie sea.He struck the topmast with his hand,The foremast with his knee;And he brake that gallant ship in twain,And sank her in the sea.
'O where have you been, my long, long, love,This long seven years and more?''O I'm come to seek my former vowsYe granted me before.'
'O hold your tongue of your former vows,For they will breed sad strife;O hold your tongue of your former vows,For I am become a wife.'
He turn'd him right and round about,And the tear blinded his ee;'I would never have trodden on Irish ground,If it had not been for thee.
'I might have had a king's daughter,Far, far beyond the sea;I might have had a king's daughter,Had it not been for love of thee.'
'If ye might have had a king's daughter,Yourself you had to blame;Ye might have taken the king's daughter,For ye knew that I was nane.'
'O false are the vows of womankind,But fair is their false bodie;I never would have trodden on Irish groundHad it not been for love of thee.'
'If I was to leave my husband dear,And my two babes also,O what have you to take me to,If with you I should go?'
'I have seven ships upon the sea,The eighth brought me to land;With four and twenty bold mariners,And music on every hand.'
She has taken up her two little babes,Kiss'd them both cheek and chin;'O fare ye well, my own two babes,For I'll never see you again.'
She set her foot upon the ship,No mariners could she behold;But the sails were of the taffetie,And the masts of the beaten gold.
She had not sail'd a league, a league,A league but barely three,When dismal grew his countenance,And drumlie grew his ee.
The masts that were like the beaten goldBent not on the heaving seas;And the sails that were of the taffetieFill'd not in the east land breeze.
They had not sail'd a league, a league,A league but barely three,Until she espied his cloven foot,And she wept right bitterly.
'O hold your tongue of your weeping,' says he,'Of your weeping now let me be;I will show you how the lilies growOn the banks of Italy.'
'O what hills are yon, yon pleasant hills,That the sun shines sweetly on?''O yon are the hills of heaven,' he said,'Where you will never won.'
'O what a mountain is yon,' she said,'All so dreary with frost and snow?''O yon is the mountain of hell,' he cried,'Where you and I will go.'
And aye when she turn'd her round aboutAye taller he seem'd for to be;Until that the tops of that gallant shipNo taller were than he.
The clouds grew dark and the wind grew loud,And the levin filled her ee;And waesome wail'd the snow-white spritesUpon the gurlie sea.
He struck the topmast with his hand,The foremast with his knee;And he brake that gallant ship in twain,And sank her in the sea.
Old Ballad
A Nightingale that all day longHad cheer'd the village with his song,Nor yet at eve his note suspended,Nor yet when eventide was ended,Began to feel, as well he might,The keen demands of appetite;When looking eagerly around,He spied far off, upon the ground,A something shining in the dark,And knew the Glowworm by his spark;So, stooping down from hawthorn top,He thought to put him in his crop.The worm, aware of his intent,Harangued him thus, right eloquent:'Did you admire my lamp,' quoth he,'As much as I your minstrelsy,You would abhor to do me wrong,As much as I to spoil your song:For 'twas the self-same Power DivineTaught you to sing, and me to shine;That you with music, I with light,Might beautify and cheer the night.'The songster heard this short oration,And warbling out his approbation,Released him, as my story tells,And found a supper somewhere else.
A Nightingale that all day longHad cheer'd the village with his song,Nor yet at eve his note suspended,Nor yet when eventide was ended,Began to feel, as well he might,The keen demands of appetite;When looking eagerly around,He spied far off, upon the ground,A something shining in the dark,And knew the Glowworm by his spark;So, stooping down from hawthorn top,He thought to put him in his crop.The worm, aware of his intent,Harangued him thus, right eloquent:'Did you admire my lamp,' quoth he,'As much as I your minstrelsy,You would abhor to do me wrong,As much as I to spoil your song:For 'twas the self-same Power DivineTaught you to sing, and me to shine;That you with music, I with light,Might beautify and cheer the night.'The songster heard this short oration,And warbling out his approbation,Released him, as my story tells,And found a supper somewhere else.
W. Cowper
You beauteous ladies great and small,I write unto you, one and all,Whereby that you may understandWhat I have suffer'd in this land.I was by birth a lady fair,My father's chief and only heir,But when my good old father died,Then I was made a young knight's bride.And then my love built me a bower,Bedeck'd with many a fragrant flower;A braver bower you ne'er did seeThan my true love did build for me.But there came thieves late in the night,They robb'd my bower, and slew my knight,And after that my knight was slainI could no longer there remain.My servants all from me did flyIn the midst of my extremity,And left me by myself aloneWith a heart more cold than any stone.Yet, though my heart was full of care,Heaven would not suffer me to despair;Wherefore in haste I changed my nameFrom fair Elise to Sweet William.And therewithal I cut my hair,And dress'd myself in man's attire;And in my beaver, hose, and band,I travell'd far through many a land.With a silver rapier by my side,So like a gallant I did ride;The thing that I delighted on,It was to be a serving-man.Thus in my sumptuous man's arrayI bravely rode along the way;And at the last it chanced soThat I to the king's court did go.Then to the king I bow'd full low,My love and duty for to show;And so much favour I did crave,That I a serving-man's place might have.'Stand up, brave youth,' the king replied,'Thy service shall not be denied;But tell me first what thou canst do;Thou shalt be fitted thereunto.'Wilt thou be usher of my hall,To wait upon my nobles all?Or wilt thou be taster of my wine,To wait on me when I do dine?'Or wilt thou be my chamberlain,To make my bed both soft and fine?Or wilt thou be one of my guard?And I will give thee thy reward.'Sweet William, with a smiling face,Said to the king, 'If't please your GraceTo show such favour unto me,Your chamberlain I fain would be.'The king then did the nobles call,To ask the counsel of them all;Who gave consent Sweet William heThe king's own chamberlain should be.Now mark what strange thing came to pass:As the king one day a-hunting was,With all his lords and noble train,Sweet William did at home remain.Sweet William had no company thenWith him at home, but an old man:And when he saw the house was clearHe took a lute which he had there:Upon the lute Sweet William play'd,And to the same he sang and said,With a sweet and noble voice,Which made the old man to rejoice:'My father was as brave a lordAs ever Europe did afford,My mother was a lady bright,My husband was a valiant knight:'And I myself a lady gay,Bedeck'd with gorgeous rich array;The bravest lady in the landHad not more pleasure at command.'I had my music every day,Harmonious lessons for to play;I had my virgins fair and freeContinually to wait on me.'But now, alas! my husband's dead,And all my friends are from me fled;My former joys are pass'd and gone,For I am now a serving-man.'At last the king from hunting came,And presently, upon the same,He called for this good old man,And thus to speak the king began:'What news, what news, old man?' quoth he;'What news hast thou to tell to me?''Brave news,' the old man he did say.'Sweet William is a lady gay.''If this be true thou tell'st to me,I'll make thee lord of high degree;But if thy words do prove a lie,Thou shalt be hang'd up presently.'But when the king the truth had found,His joys did more and more abound:According as the old man did say,Sweet William was a lady gay.Therefore the king without delayPut on her glorious rich array,And upon her head a crown of goldWhich was most famous to behold.And then, for fear of further strife,He took Sweet William for his wife;The like before was never seen,A serving-man to be a queen.
You beauteous ladies great and small,I write unto you, one and all,Whereby that you may understandWhat I have suffer'd in this land.
I was by birth a lady fair,My father's chief and only heir,But when my good old father died,Then I was made a young knight's bride.
And then my love built me a bower,Bedeck'd with many a fragrant flower;A braver bower you ne'er did seeThan my true love did build for me.
But there came thieves late in the night,They robb'd my bower, and slew my knight,And after that my knight was slainI could no longer there remain.
My servants all from me did flyIn the midst of my extremity,And left me by myself aloneWith a heart more cold than any stone.
Yet, though my heart was full of care,Heaven would not suffer me to despair;Wherefore in haste I changed my nameFrom fair Elise to Sweet William.
And therewithal I cut my hair,And dress'd myself in man's attire;And in my beaver, hose, and band,I travell'd far through many a land.
With a silver rapier by my side,So like a gallant I did ride;The thing that I delighted on,It was to be a serving-man.
Thus in my sumptuous man's arrayI bravely rode along the way;And at the last it chanced soThat I to the king's court did go.
Then to the king I bow'd full low,My love and duty for to show;And so much favour I did crave,That I a serving-man's place might have.
'Stand up, brave youth,' the king replied,'Thy service shall not be denied;But tell me first what thou canst do;Thou shalt be fitted thereunto.
'Wilt thou be usher of my hall,To wait upon my nobles all?Or wilt thou be taster of my wine,To wait on me when I do dine?
'Or wilt thou be my chamberlain,To make my bed both soft and fine?Or wilt thou be one of my guard?And I will give thee thy reward.'
Sweet William, with a smiling face,Said to the king, 'If't please your GraceTo show such favour unto me,Your chamberlain I fain would be.'
The king then did the nobles call,To ask the counsel of them all;Who gave consent Sweet William heThe king's own chamberlain should be.
Now mark what strange thing came to pass:As the king one day a-hunting was,With all his lords and noble train,Sweet William did at home remain.
Sweet William had no company thenWith him at home, but an old man:And when he saw the house was clearHe took a lute which he had there:
Upon the lute Sweet William play'd,And to the same he sang and said,With a sweet and noble voice,Which made the old man to rejoice:
'My father was as brave a lordAs ever Europe did afford,My mother was a lady bright,My husband was a valiant knight:
'And I myself a lady gay,Bedeck'd with gorgeous rich array;The bravest lady in the landHad not more pleasure at command.
'I had my music every day,Harmonious lessons for to play;I had my virgins fair and freeContinually to wait on me.
'But now, alas! my husband's dead,And all my friends are from me fled;My former joys are pass'd and gone,For I am now a serving-man.'
At last the king from hunting came,And presently, upon the same,He called for this good old man,And thus to speak the king began:
'What news, what news, old man?' quoth he;'What news hast thou to tell to me?''Brave news,' the old man he did say.'Sweet William is a lady gay.'
'If this be true thou tell'st to me,I'll make thee lord of high degree;But if thy words do prove a lie,Thou shalt be hang'd up presently.'
But when the king the truth had found,His joys did more and more abound:According as the old man did say,Sweet William was a lady gay.
Therefore the king without delayPut on her glorious rich array,And upon her head a crown of goldWhich was most famous to behold.
And then, for fear of further strife,He took Sweet William for his wife;The like before was never seen,A serving-man to be a queen.
Old Ballad
It chanced upon a winter's day,But warm, and bright, and calm as May,The birds, conceiving a designTo forestall sweet St. Valentine,In many an orchard, copse, and grove,Assembled on affairs of love,And with much twitter and much chatter,Began to agitate the matter.At length a Bullfinch, who could boastMore years and wisdom than the most,Entreated, opening wide his beak,A moment's liberty to speak;And, silence publicly enjoin'd;Deliver'd briefly thus his mind:'My friends! be cautious how ye treatThe subject upon which we meet;I fear we shall have winter yet.'A finch, whose tongue knew no control,With golden wing and satin poll,A last year's bird, who ne'er had triedWhat pairing means, thus pert replied:'Methinks the gentleman,' quoth she,'Opposite, in the apple-tree,By his good will would keep us singleTill yonder heaven and earth shall mingle,Or (which is likelier to befall)Till death exterminate us all.I couple without more ado;My dear Dick Redcap, what say you?'Dick heard, and tweedling, ogling, bridling,Turning short round, strutting, and sidling,Attested glad his approbationOf an immediate conjugation.Their sentiments so well express'dInfluenced mightily the rest;All pair'd, and each pair built a nest.But though the birds were thus in haste,The leaves came on not quite so fast,And Destiny, that sometimes bearsAn aspect stern on man's affairs,Not altogether smiled on theirs.The wind, of late breath'd gently forth,Now shifted east, and east by north;Bare trees and shrubs but ill, you know,Could shelter them from rain and snow,Stepping into their nests, they paddled,Themselves were chill'd, their eggs were addled.Soon every father bird and motherGrew quarrelsome, and peck'd each other.Parted without the least regret,Except that they had ever met,And learn'd in future to be wiserThan to neglect a good adviser.
It chanced upon a winter's day,But warm, and bright, and calm as May,The birds, conceiving a designTo forestall sweet St. Valentine,In many an orchard, copse, and grove,Assembled on affairs of love,And with much twitter and much chatter,Began to agitate the matter.At length a Bullfinch, who could boastMore years and wisdom than the most,Entreated, opening wide his beak,A moment's liberty to speak;And, silence publicly enjoin'd;Deliver'd briefly thus his mind:'My friends! be cautious how ye treatThe subject upon which we meet;I fear we shall have winter yet.'A finch, whose tongue knew no control,With golden wing and satin poll,A last year's bird, who ne'er had triedWhat pairing means, thus pert replied:'Methinks the gentleman,' quoth she,'Opposite, in the apple-tree,By his good will would keep us singleTill yonder heaven and earth shall mingle,Or (which is likelier to befall)Till death exterminate us all.I couple without more ado;My dear Dick Redcap, what say you?'Dick heard, and tweedling, ogling, bridling,Turning short round, strutting, and sidling,Attested glad his approbationOf an immediate conjugation.Their sentiments so well express'dInfluenced mightily the rest;All pair'd, and each pair built a nest.But though the birds were thus in haste,The leaves came on not quite so fast,And Destiny, that sometimes bearsAn aspect stern on man's affairs,Not altogether smiled on theirs.The wind, of late breath'd gently forth,Now shifted east, and east by north;Bare trees and shrubs but ill, you know,Could shelter them from rain and snow,Stepping into their nests, they paddled,Themselves were chill'd, their eggs were addled.Soon every father bird and motherGrew quarrelsome, and peck'd each other.Parted without the least regret,Except that they had ever met,And learn'd in future to be wiserThan to neglect a good adviser.
W. Cowper