SONGS.

WHO IS SILVIA ?1

Who is Silvia? What is she,

That all our swains commend her?
Holy, fair, and wise is she:

The heavens such grace did lend her,
That she might admired be.

Is she kind as she is fair?

For beauty lives with kindness.

Love doth to her eyes repair

To help him of his blindness,
And, being helped, inhabits there.

Then to Silvia let us sing,

That Silvia is excelling;

She excels each mortal thing

Upon the dull earth dwelling:

To her let us garlands bring.

A SONG OF SPRING AND WINTER.2

I. THE CUCKOO.

When daisies pied and violets blue
And lady-smocks all silver-white

And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue

Do paint the meadows with delight,

The cuckoo then, on every tree,

Mocks married men; for thus sings he,-
Cuckoo,

Cuckoo, cuckoo,—Ó word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear!

When shepherds pipe on oaten straws,

And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks,
When turtles pair, 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,-O word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear!

1 From The Two Gentlemen of Verona.

2 From Love's Labour's Lost.

II. THE OWL.

When icicles hang by the wall,

And Dick, the shepherd, blows his nail,
And Tom bears logs into the hall,

And milk comes frozen home in pail,
When blood is nipped, and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
To-who,

Tu-whit, to-who,-a merry note !
While greasy Joan doth keel1 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,—
To-who,

Tu-whit, to-who,-a merry note!
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell :
Ding, dong!

Hark, now I hear them,-Ding, dong, bell!

BLOW, BLOW, THOU WINTER WIND.1

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!
Thou dost not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot;

Though thou the waters warp,

Thy sting is not so sharp

Ás 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.

SONG OF THE SPINSTERS AND KNITTERS IN THE SUN." "2

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 :'

1 From As You Like It. 2 From Twelfth Night; or What You Will.

A thousand thousand sighs to save,
Lay me, O, where

Sad true lover never find my grave,
To weep there!

OPHELIA'S SONGS.1

I.

"How should I your true love know
From another one?"
"By his cockle hat and staff,
And his sandal shoon."

"He is dead and gone, lady,
He is dead and gone;
At his head a grass-green turf,

At his heels a stone.

"White his shroud as the mountain snow,
Larded with sweet flowers,
Which bewept to the grave did go
With true-love showers."

II.

And will he not come again?
And will he not come again?
No, no, he is dead:

Go to thy death-bed :

He never will come again.

His beard was as white as snow,
All flaxen was his poll:

He is gone, he is gone,

And we cast away moan;

God 'a' mercy on his soul !

SERENADE.2

Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings;

And Phoebus 'gins arise,

His steeds to water at those springs

1 From Hamlet.

On chaliced flowers that lies ;3

2 From Cymbeline.

3 The relative is often made, by Shakespeare, to take a singular verb, though 1e antecedent be plural.

And winking Mary-buds begin
To ope their golden eyes:
With every thing that pretty bin,
My lady sweet, arise;
Arise, arise!

THE DIRGE OF IMOGEN.1

Fear no more the heat o' the sun,
Nor the furious winter's rages;
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone and ta'en thy wages:
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

Fear no more the frown o' the great;
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke;
Care no more to clothe and eat;

To thee the reed is as the oak:
The sceptre, learning, physic, must
All follow this, and come to dust.

Fear no more the lightning-flash,
Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;
Fear not slander, censure rash;

Thou hast finished joy and moan:
All lovers young, all lovers, must
Consign to thee, and come to dust.

No exorciser harm thee!

Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
Ghost unlaid forbear thee !
Nothing ill come near thee !

Quiet consummation have;
And renownèd be thy grave !

THOMAS NASH.

(1567-1600?)

THE names of Nash, Peele, Greene, Marlowe, and Shakespeare are associated in the history of the early Elizabethan drama; but none of the first four of this group outlived the 1 From Cymbeline.