A MERRY HEART GOES ALL THE DAY. JOG OG on, jog on, the footpath way, Your sad tires in a mile-a. COME BUY, COME BUY. AWN as white as driven snow; Cypress black as e'er was crow; oves as sweet as damask roses; sks for faces, and for noses; gle-bracelet, necklace-amber, fume for a lady's chamber: Iden quoifs and stomachers, my lads to give their dears; as and poking-sticks 1 of steel, nat maids lack from head to heel: Come buy of me, come; come buy, come buy; Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry: Come buy. Sticks of steel for setting the plaits of a ruff. WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 55 COME TO THE PEDLAR, LL you buy any tape, WILL Or lace for your cape, My dainty duck, my dear-a? Any silk, any thread, Any toys for your head, Of the new'st and finest, finest wear-a? Come to the pedlar ; Money's a medler, That doth utter all men's ware-a. From The Tempest. COME UNTO THESE YELLOW SANDS. 'OME unto these yellow sands, COME And then take hands : Courtsied when you have and kissed The wild waves whist, Foot it featly here and there; And, sweet sprites, the burden bear. Hark, hark! Bow-wow. The watch-dogs bark: Bow-wow. Hark, hark! I hear The strain of strutting chanticleer Cry, Cock-a-didle-dow. FU A DIRGE. ULL fathom five thy father.lies: Those are pearls that were his eyes : Hark! now I hear them,-ding-dong, bell. SHAKE OFF SLUMBER, AND BEWARE. WHILE you here do snoring lie, Open-eyed Conspiracy His time doth take; If of life you keep a care, Shake off slumber, and beware : WHERE THE BEE SUCKS, THERE SUCK I. WHERE the bee sucks, there suck I ; In a cowslip's bell I lie ; here I couch when owls do cry; On the bat's back I do fly fter summer merrily: Ierrily, merrily, shall I live now Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. I BEN JONSON. 57 From BEN JONSON'S Cynthia's SLOW, SLOW, FRESH FOUNT. LOW, slow, fresh fount, keep time with my salt SLOW, tears; Yet slower, yet; O faintly, gentle springs; List to the heavy part the music bears, Woe weeps out her division when she sings. Fall grief in showers, Our beauties are not ours; Like melting snow upon some craggy hill, Drop, drop, drop, drop, Since nature's pride is now a withered daffodil. Might not for ever last! So sugared, so melting, so soft, so delicious, When the morn herself discloses, Is not so precious. O rather than I would it smother, 58 BEN JONSON. THOU THE GLOVE. HOU more than most sweet glove, Suffer me to store with kisses This empty lodging that now misses Thou art soft, but that was softer; HYMN TO DIANA. QUEEN, and huntress, chaste and fair, Now the sun is laid to sleep, Seated in thy silver chair, State in wonted manner keep : Earth, let not thy envious shade Heaven to clear when day did close: Lay thy bow of pearl apart, And thy crystal shining quiver; Give unto the flying hart Space to breathe, how short soever : |