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SONG.

in twelfth Nicht.

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 true
Pid share it.
Not a flower, not a flower sweet
On my black coffin let there be strown;
Not a friend, not a friend greet
My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown:
A thousand thousand sighs to save,
Lay me, O! where
Sad true lover ne'er find my grave,
To weep there !

SONG.

FROM The Two GentleMen of vertoxa.

“Who is Silvia? what is she,
“That all our swains commend her ?”

Holy, fair, and wise is she,
The Heavens such grace did lend her,

That she might admired be.

“Is she kind as she is fair 2
“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 thing
Upon the dull Earth dwelling;

To her let us garlands bring.

SONG.

in cymaeli NE.

Feah no more the heat o' th' Sun,
Nor the furious Winter's rages;
Thou thy worldly task hast dome,
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' th' 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, must
All follow this, and come to dust.

Fear no more the lightning-flash,
North' all-dreaded thunder stone;
Fear not slander, censure rash,
Thou hast finished joy and moan.
All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee, and dome to dust.

No exorciser harm thee! And tune his merry note
Nor no witchcraft charm thee! Unto the sweet bird’s throat,
Ghost unlaid forbear thee! Come hither, come hither, come hither;
Nothing ill come near thee! Here shall he see
From it consummation have, No enemy
And renowned be thy grave! But winter and rough weather.

Who doth ambition shun,
And loves to live i' the sun;

SONG. Seeking the food he eats, And pleas'd with what he gets, from As You Like it. Come hither, come hither, come hither: Here shall he see UNDER the green-wood tree No enemy

Who loves to lie with me, But winter and rough weather

THE

PO E. MS

or

SIR JOHN DAVIES.

y

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