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Else I with roses every day,

Will whip you hence, And bind you when you long to play,

For your offence; I'll shut my eyes to keep you in, I'll make you fast it for your sin, I'll count your power not worth a pin, Alas! what hereby shall I win,

If he gainsay me!

What if I beat the wanton boy,

With many a rod,
He will repay me with annoy,

Because a god;
Then sit thou softly on my knee,
And let thy bower my bosom be;
Lurk in my eyes, I like of thee,
O Cupid ! so thou pity me;

Spare not, but play thee.


SAMUEL DANYELL, born 1562, died 1619. Love is a sickness full of woes,

All remedies refusing,
A plant that with most cutting grows,
Most barren with best using.

Why so?
If we enjoy it, soon it dies,
If not enjoy'd, it sighing cries

Hey ho !


Love is a torment of the mind,

A tempest everlasting,
A heav'n has made it of a kind,
Not well ;-nor full, nor fasting.

Why so?
If we enjoy it, soon it dies,
If not enjoy'd, it sighing cries

Hey ho!

William SHAKSPEARE, born 1564, died 1616.
Sigu 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 woe,

Into, Hey nonny, nonny.
Sing no more ditties, sing no more

Of 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.

From “Much Ado About Nothing," Act II., Scene iii. This song is sung by Balthazar and affirmed by Don Pedro to be “ By my troth, a good song.'


Hark! hark! the lark at Heaven's gate sings,

As Phæbus 'gins arise,
His steeds to water at those springs,

On chaliced flowers that lies,
And winking May-buds begin

To ope their golden eyes ;
With every thing that pretty bin :
My lady sweet arise ;-


From Cymbeline-sung by Cloten's musicians under the windows of Imogen's TAKE, OH TAKE, THOSE LIPS AWAY!



TAKE, oh 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,
Seals of love but seal'd in vain. :

Hide, oh hide, those hills of snow,

Which thy frozen bosom bears !
On whose tops the pinks that grow

Are of those that April wears ;
But first set my poor heart free,
Bound in those icy chains by thee.

* There is some doubt as to the authorship of this exquisite song. The first stanza is quoted in “ Measure for Measure." Both of the stanzas appear in the “Bloody Brother, or Rollo, Duke of Normandy," by Beaumont and Fletcher. It does not follow, however, that any part of it is Shakspeare's because it is introduced in one of his plays. A note on this passage in Knight's edition of Shakspeare's plays says, “ The question arises, is this, song to be attributed to Shakspeare or Fletcher? Malone justly observes that all the songs introduced in our author's plays appear to have been his own composition. The idea in the line

* Seals of love, but sealed in vain,' is found in the 142d sonnet. The image is also repeated in 'Venus and Adonis' Weber, the editor of Beaumont and Fletcher, is of opinion that the first stanza was Shakspeare's and that Fletchor added the second. There is no evidence, we apprehend, internal or external, by which the question can be settled."


From John DowLAND's Second Book of Songs, 1600.

What poor astronomers are they,

Take women's eyes for stars,
And set their thoughts in battle 'ray,

To fight such idle wars ;
When in the end they shall approve,

'Tis but a jest drawn, out of love.

And love itself is but a jest,

Devised by idle heads,
To catch young fancies in the nest,

And lay it in fools' beds ;
That being batched by beauty's eyes,
They may be fledged ere they be wise.
But yet it is a sport to see

How wit will run on wheels;
While wit cannot persuaded be,

With that which reason feels-
That women's eyes and stars are odd,
And love is but a feigned god.
But such as will run mad with will

I cannot clear their sight,
But leave them to their study still,

To look where is no light;
Till time too late we make them try,

They study false astronomy. "John Dowland,” says a note in the Rev. Alexander Dyce's edition of the Poems of Shakspeare, “was a famous latinist." In a sonnet often attributed to Shakspeare, because inserted in his “ Passionate Pilgrim," but published by Richard Barnefield, a year belore the “Passionate Pilgrim " was given to the world, occur the lines ;

“ Dowland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch
Upon the lute, doth ravish human sense.


From “An Houre's Recreation in Musicke.” RICHARD ALLISON, 1606.

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 buy,
Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry.

Those cherries fairly do inclose,

Of orient pearl a double row,
Which when her lovely laughter shows,

They look like rose-buds felld with snow ;
Yet them no peer nor prince may buy,
Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry.

Her eyes like angels watch them still,

Her brows like bended bows do stand,
Threatening with piercing frowns to kill

All that approach with eye or hand
These sacred cherries to come nigh,
Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry.

This song is apparently the original which suggested to Herrick the lines entitled “ Cherry Ripe.” Having been somewhat altered and adapted to a pleasing melody by Mr. Charles Horn, the song of “Cherry Ripe" became very popular about the year 1825.


Cherry ripe, ripe, I cry,
Full and fair ones, come and buy ;
If so be you ask me where
They do grow, I answer there,
Where my Julia's lips do smile
There's the land, or cherry isle.

Cherry ripe, ripe, I cry
Full and fair ones, come and buy
There plantations fully show
All the year where cherries grow.
Cherry ripe, ripe, I cry,
Full and fair ones, come and buy.


From “ The Muses' Gardens," 1610.

ONCE did my thoughts both ebb and flow,

As passion did them move ;
Once did I hope, straight fear again,

And then I was in love.

Once did I waking spend the night,

And told how many minutes move ;
Once did I wishing waste the day,

And then I was in love.

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