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And how, like laggards, wild about they range,
Scorning after reason to follow will:

Who would not shake such buzzards from the fist,
And let them fly, fair fools, what way they list?

Yet, for our sport, we fawn and flatter both,

To pass the time when nothing else can please, And train them on to yield, by subtle oath,

The sweet content that gives such humour ease; And then we say, when we their follies try, "To play with fools, oh, what a fool was Ï!"

MAY NEVER WAS THE MONTH OF LOVE.

From MORLEY'S "Ballets," 1595.

MAY never was the month of love,
For May is full of flowers ;
But rather April, wet by kind,
For love is full of showers.

With soothing words enthralling souls,
She claims in servile hands:
Her eye in silence hath a speech,
Which eye best understands.

Her little sweet hath many sours,
Short hap immortal harms;
Her loving looks are murdering darts,
Her songs bewitching charms.

Like winter rose and summer iee,
Her joys are still untimely;
Before her, hope-behind, remorse;

Fair first-in fine unseemly.

Plough not the seas, sow not the sands,

Leave off your idle pain;

Seek other mistress for your mind;

Love's service is in vain.

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LOVE in my bosom, like a bee,
Doth suck his sweet;

Now with his wings he plays with me,
Now with his feet.

Within mine eyes he makes his nest,
His bed amidst my tender breast;
My kisses are his daily feast,
And yet he robs me of my rest:
Ah, wanton, will you?

And if I sleep, then pierceth he
With pretty slight,

And makes his pillow of my knee

The live-long night.

Strike I the lute, he tunes the string;

He music plays if I but sing;

He lends me every lovely thing,

Yet, cruel, he my heart doth sting:

Ah, wanton, will you?

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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.

A CHARACTER OF LOVE.

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 heaven 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!

SIGH NO MORE, LADIES.

WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE, born 1564, died 1616. Set as a song or glee
by J. R. STEVENS.

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From Much Ado about Nothing," art ii, sc. 3. This song is sung by Balthazar, and affirmed by Don Pedro to be "By my troth, a good song."

HARK, HARK! THE LARK.

WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. Set as a glee by Dr. COOKE.

HARK, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,

As Phœbus 'gins arise,

His steeds to water at those springs

On chaliced flowers that lies;

And winking Mary-buds begin

To ope their golden eyes,

With every thing that pretty bin,

My lady sweet, arise;

Arise, arise.

From "Cymbeline:" sung by Cloten's musicians under the windows of Imogen's chamber,

TAKE, OH, TAKE THOSE LIPS AWAY!

WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE.

Music by W. LINLEY. The song has also been set by M. Galliard, William Jackson, of Exeter, Mr. Frank Mori, and other composers.

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 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 seal'd 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 Fletcher added the second. There is no evidence, we apprehend, internal or external, by which the question can be settled."

THE FOLLY OF LOVE.

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 array,
To fight such idle wars;

When, in the end, they shall approve

'Tis but a jest drawn out of love!

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