Lyrics from the Dramatists of the Elizabethan Age

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Arthur Henry Bullen
J.C. Nimmo, 1889 - Ballads, English - 243 pages

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Page 42 - 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 Did 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 never find my grave, To weep there.
Page 189 - The Contention of Ajax and Ulysses, 1659. NO ARMOUR AGAINST FATE. 'HPHE glories of our blood and state •*• Are shadows, not substantial things ; There is no armour against Fate ; Death lays his icy hand on kings : Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Page 31 - 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...
Page 217 - Wherewith she sits on diamond rocks Sleeking her soft alluring locks; By all the nymphs that nightly dance Upon thy streams with wily glance; Rise, rise, and heave thy rosy head From thy coral-paven bed, And bridle in thy headlong wave, Till thou our summons answered have.
Page 219 - To the ocean now I fly, And those happy climes that lie Where day never shuts his eye, Up in the broad fields of the sky. There I suck the liquid air, All amidst the Gardens fair Of Hesperus, and his daughters three That sing about the Golden Tree.
Page 56 - 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-change Into something rich and strange. Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell : Hark! now I hear them, — ding-dong, bell.
Page 69 - Do but look on her eyes, they do light All that Love's world compriseth ! Do but look on her hair, it is bright As Love's star when it riseth ! Do but mark, her forehead's smoother...
Page 37 - Tell me where is fancy bred, Or in the heart, or in the head ? How begot, how nourished ? Reply, reply. It is engendered in the eyes, With gazing fed, and fancy dies In the cradle where it lies. Let us all ring fancy's knell. I'll begin it - Ding, dong, bell.
Page 220 - But now my task is smoothly done, I can fly, or I can run, Quickly to the green earth's end, Where the bow'd welkin slow doth bend, And from thence can soar as soon To the corners of the moon.
Page 25 - Beauty is but a flower, Which wrinkles will devour : Brightness falls from the air ; Queens have died young and fair ; Dust hath closed Helen's eye ; I am sick, I must die.

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