Shakespeare's Songs

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J. Lane, 1901 - 140 pages

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Page 22 - 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.
Page 128 - Every thing did banish moan, Save the nightingale alone : She, poor bird, as all forlorn, Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn, And there sung the dolefull'st ditty, That to hear it was great pity : 'Fie, fie, fie...
Page 42 - When daffodils begin to peer, "With heigh ! the doxy over the dale, "Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year ; For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale.
Page 61 - 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 4 - O mistress mine, where are you roaming ? O, stay and hear; your true love's coming, That can sing both high and low: Trip no further, pretty sweeting; Journeys end in lovers meeting, Every wise man's son doth know.
Page 66 - 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.
Page 54 - Tu-whit, tu-who - a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. When all aloud the wind doth blow, And coughing drowns the parson's saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow, And Marian's nose looks red and raw, When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, Then nightly sings the staring owl...
Page 102 - O father ! what a hell of witchcraft lies In the small orb of one particular tear, But with the inundation of the eyes What rocky heart to water will not wear?
Page 2 - Tell me, where is fancy * bred, Or in the heart, or in the head ? How begot, how nourished ? Reply, reply. It is engender'd 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 68 - Under the greenwood tree * Who loves to lie with me, And turn his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat, Come hither, come hither, come hither : Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather.* JAQ.

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