VIII.

INGRATITUDE.

BLOW, blow, thou winter wind,

Thou art not so unkind

As man's ingratitude;

Thy tooth is not so keen,

Because thou art not seen,

Although thy breath be rude.

Heigh-ho! sing heigh-ho! unto the green holly; Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly! Then, heigh-ho, the holly!

This life is most jolly.

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
That dost not bite so nigh

As benefits forgot:
Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp

As friend remembered not.

Heigh-ho! sing heigh-ho! unto the green holly : Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly! Then, heigh-ho, the holly!

This life is most jolly.

As You Like It, ii. 7.

IX.

THE MISANTHROPE.

IMMORTAL gods, I crave no pelf;
I pray for no man but myself:
Grant I may never prove so fond
To trust man on his oath or bond;

Or a harlot for her weeping;
Or a dog that seems a-sleeping;
Or a keeper with my freedom;
Or my friends, if I should need 'em.

Timon of Athens, i. 2.

X.

DIRGES.

1.

HERO'S EPITAPH.

DONE to death by slanderous tongues

Was the Hero that here lies:
Death, in guerdon of her wrongs,

Gives her fame that never dies:
So the life that died with shame,
Lives in death with glorious fame.
Much Ado About Nothing, v.

3.

2.

A SEA-GRAVE.

(Ariel sing3.)

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.

The Tempest, i. 2.

3.

TO JULIET.

(Paris loq.)

SWEET flower, with flowers thy bridal bed I strew-
O woe! thy canopy is dust and stones-
Which with sweet water nightly I will dew,

Or, wanting that, with tears distilled by moans.
The obsequies that I for thee will keep,
Nightly shall be to strew thy grave and weep.

Romeo and Juliet, v. 3.

XI.

THE WAY OF THE WORLD.

WHY let the stricken deer go weep,

The hart ungalled play:

For some must watch, while some must sleep;
So runs the world away.

SONNETS.

I.

HARMONY.

MUSIC to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly?
Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy.
Why lov'st thou that which thou receiv'st not gladly?
Or else receiv'st with pleasure thine annoy?
If the true concord of well-tuned sounds,
By unions married, do offend thine ear,
They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds
In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear.

O, how shall summer's honey breath hold out
Against the wreckful siege of battering days,
When rocks impregnable are not so stout,

Nor gates of steel so strong, but Time decays?
O fearful meditation! where, alack!

Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid? Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back? Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid?

VI.

'DUMB FORGETFULNESS.'

No longer mourn for me, when I am dead,
Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell
Give warning to the world that I am fled
From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell.
Nay, if you read this line, remember not
The hand that writ it; for I love you so,
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot,
If thinking on me then should make you woe.
O! if, I say, you look upon this verse,

When I, perhaps, compounded am with clay,
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse,

But let your love even with my life decay: Lest the wise world should look into your moan, And mock you with me after I am gone.

VII.

'Ut flos in septis secretus nascitur hortis
Ignotus pecori, nullo contusus aratro.'

THEY that have power to hurt and will do none,
That do not do the thing they most do show,

Who, moving others, are themselves as stone,
Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow,
They rightly do inherit heaven's graces,

And husband nature's riches from expense;
They are the lords and owners of their faces,
Others but stewards of their excellence.
The summer's flower is to the summer sweet,
Though to itself it only live and die :
But if that flower with base infection meet,
The basest weed outbraves his dignity:
For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds,
Lilies that fester, smell far worse than weeds.

VIII.

THE SISTER ARTS.

IF music and sweet poetry agree,

As they must needs, the sister and the brother, Then must the love be great 'twixt thee and me, Because thou lov'st the one, and I the other. Dowland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch Upon the lute doth ravish human sense: Spenser to me, whose deep conceit is such, As, passing all conceit, needs no defence. Thou lov'st to hear the sweet melodious sound That Phoebus' lute, the queen of music, makes ; And I in deep delight am chiefly drowned, Whenas himself to singing he betakes. One god is god of both, as poets feign;

One knight loves both, and both in thee remain.