And pity, like a naked new-born babe,
Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, horsed
Upon the sightless couriers of the air,
Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye,
That tears shall drown the wind.

- I have no spur

To prick the sides of my intent, but only
Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself,
And falls on the other.

85. Witches. - Act IV. Sc. I.

A dark Cave. In the middle, a Caldron boiling. Thunder.
Enter the three Witches.

1st Witch. Thrice the brinded cat hath mewed.

2nd Witch. Thrice; and once the hedge-pig whined.

3rd Witch.

Ist Witch.

Harpier cries: 'Tis time, 'tis time.
Round about the caldron go;
In the poisoned entrails throw.
Toad, that under cold stone,
Days and nights hast thirty-one
Sweltered venom sleeping got,
Boil thou first i' the charméd pot!
Double, double, toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and caldron bubble.
2nd Witch. Fillet of a fenny snake,

All.

All.

In the caldron boil and bake:
Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting,
Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing,
For a charm of powerful trouble;
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
Double, double, toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and caldron bubble.

D. SONGS.

86. ARIEL'S SONG.

Where the bee sucks, there suck I;

In a cowslip's bell I lie:

There I couch when owls do cry,

On the bat's back I do fly

After summer merrily:

Merrily, merrily, shall I live now,

Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.

The Tempest. Act V. Sc. 1.

87. THE FAIRY TO PUCK.

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 favors,

In those freckles live their savors:
I must go seek some dew-drops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.

Midsummer Night's Dream. Act II. Sc. 1.

88. SONNET XCIX.

The forward violet thus did I chide;

Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells,

If not from my love's breath? The purple pride

Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells,

In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dyed.
The lily I condemnéd for thy hand,
And buds of marjoram had stolen thy hair:
The roses fearfully on thorns did stand,
One blushing shame, another white despair;
A third, nor red nor white, had stolen of both,
And to his robbery had annexed thy breath;
But for his theft, in pride of all his growth
A vengeful canker eat him up to death.

More flowers I noted, yet I none could see,
But sweet or color it had stolen from thee.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE SHAKSPEARIAN DRAMATISTS.

BEN JONSON. 1573-1637. (Manual, p. 152.)

89. FROM THE SAD SHEPHERD; OR, A TALE of Robin Hood. Alken, an old Shepherd, instructs Robin Hood's men how to find a Witch, and how she is to be hunted.

Alken. Within a gloomy dimble' she doth dwell,

Down in a pit o'ergrown with brakes and briars,

Close by the ruins of a shaken abbey,

Torn with an earthquake down unto the ground,
'Mongst graves, and grots, near an old charnel-house,
Where you shall find her sitting in her fourm,

As fearful, and melancholic, as that

She is about; with caterpillars' kells,

And knotty cobwebs, rounded in with spells.
Then she steals forth to relief, in the fogs,
And rotten mists, upon the fens and bogs,

Down to the drownéd lands of Lincolnshire;

To make ewes cast their lambs, swine eat their farrow;
The housewife's tun not work, nor the milk churn;

Writhe children's wrists, and suck their breath in sleep;

Get vials of their blood; and where the sea
Casts up his slimy ooze, search for a weed
To open locks with, and to rivet charms,
Planted about her, in the wicked seat
Of all her mischiefs, which are manifold.

Wherewith she kills; where the sad mandrake grows,
Whose groans are deathful; the dead numbing nightshade;
The stupefying hemlock; adder's tongue,

And martegan; 2 the shrieks of luckless owls,
We hear, and croaking night-crows in the air;
Green-bellied snakes; blue fire-drakes in the sky;
And giddy flitter-mice3 with leather wings;

1 Dingle, or dell.

2 A kind of lily.

3 Bats.

The scaly beetles, with their habergeons

That make a humming murmur as they fly;

There, in the stocks of trees, white fays do dwell,
And span-long elves that dance about a pool,
With each a little changeling in their arms:
The airy spirits play with falling stars,

And mount the sphere of fire, to kiss the moon;
While she sits reading by the glowworm's light,
Or rotten wood, o'er which the worm hath crept,
The baneful schedule of her nocent charms,
And binding characters, through which she wounds
Her puppets, the Sigilla* of her witchcraft.
All this I know, and I will find her for you;
And show you her sitting in her fourm; I'll lay
My hand upon her; make her throw her scut
Along her back, when she doth start before us.
But you must give her law; and you shall see her
Make twenty leaps and doubles, cross the paths,
And then squat down beside us.

4 Seals, or talismans.

90. FROM Sejanus.

Sejanus, the morning he is condemned by the Senate, receives some tokens which presage his death.

Ter.

Min.

Sej.

Ter.

Sej.

SEJANUS, POMPONIUS, MINUTIUS, TERENTIUS, &c.

Are these things true?

Thousands are gazing at it in the streets.

What's that?

Minutius tells us here, my lord,

That a new head being set upon your statue,
A rope is since found wreathed about it! and
But now a fiery meteor in the form

Of a great ball was seen to roll along

The troubled air, where yet it hangs unperfect,
The amazing wonder of the multitude.

No more.

Send for the tribunes: we will straight have up
More of the soldiers for our guard. Minutius,

We pray you go for Cotta, Latiaris,

Trio the consul, or what senators

You know are sure, and ours. You, my good Natta,
For Laco, provost of the watch. Now, Satrius,

The time of proof comes on.

Arm all our servants,

And without tumult. You, Pomponius,

Hold some good correspondence with the consul⚫

Attempt him, noble friend. These things begin
To look like dangers, now, worthy my fates.
Fortune, I see thy worst: let doubtful states
And things uncertain hang upon thy will;
Me surest death shall render certain still.

If you will, destinies, that after all

I faint now ere I touch my period,

*

You are but cruel; and I already have done

Things great enough. All Rome hath been my slave;

The senate sat an idle looker-on,

And witness of my power; when I have blushed

More to command, than it to suffer; all

The fathers have sat ready and prepared

To give me empire, temples, or their throats,

When I would ask them; and (what crowns the top)
Rome, senate, people, all the world, have seen

Jove but my equal, Cæsar but my second.

'Tis then your malice, Fates, who (but your own)
Envy and fear to have any power long known.

BEAUMONT, 1586-1615, and FLETCHER, 1576-1625. (Manual, p. 157.)

91. FROM THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERDess.

Clorin, a Shepherdess, watching by the grave of her Lover, is found by a Satyr.

Clor. Hail, holy earth, whose cold arms do embrace

The truest man that ever fed his flocks

By the fat plains of fruitful Thessaly.
Thus I salute thy grave, thus do I pay
My early vows, and tribute of mine eyes,
To thy still loved ashes: thus I free
Myself from all ensuing heats and fires

Of love all sports, delights, and jolly games,
That shepherds hold full dear, thus put I off.
Now no more shall these smooth brows be begirt
With youthful coronals, and lead the dance.
No more the company of fresh fair maids
And wanton shepherds be to me delightful :
Nor the shrill pleasing sound of merry pipes
Under some shady dell, when the cool wind
Plays on the leaves: all be far away,

Since thou art far away, by whose dear side
How often have I sat crowned with fresh flowers
For summer's queen, whilst every shepherd's boy