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.

FROM THE MERCHANT OF VENICE.

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.

Ding, dong, bell.

FROM AS YOU LIKE IT.

UNDER the greenwood tree
Who loves to lie with me,
And tune 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.

Who doth ambition shun,
And loves to live i' the sun,
Seeking the food he eats,

And pleas'd with what he gets,
Come hither, come hither, come hither!
Here shall he see

No enemy,

But winter and rough weather.

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 remember'd not.

Heigh, ho! sing, heigh, ho! &c.

A sailor's wife had chesnuts in her lap.
And mounch'd, and mounch'd, and mounch'd:-
Give me, quoth I:

Aroint thee, witch! the rump-fed ronyon cries.

Her husband's to Aleppo gone, master o' the Tiger:

But in a sieve I'll thither sail

And, like a rat without a tail,
I'll do, I'll do, I'll do.

I myself have all the other;
And the very ports they blow,

All the quarters that they know
I' the shipman's card.

I will drain him dry as hay.
Sleep shall, neither night nor day,
Hang upon his pent-house lid;
He shall live a man forbid.
Weary sev'n-nights, nine times nine,
Shall he dwindle, peak, and pine:
Though his bark cannot be lost,
Yet it shall be tempest-toss'd.
Look what I have.

SECOND WITCH.

Show me, show me.

FIRST WITCH.

Here I have a pilot's thumb,
Wreck'd, as homeward he did come.

A drum, a drum;

THIRD WITCH.

Macbeth doth come.

ALL.

The weird sisters, hand in hand,
Posters of the sea and land,

Thus do go about, about;

Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine,
And thrice again to make up nine;
Peace! the charm's wound up.

FIRST WITCH.

WHY, how now, Hecate !

you

look angerly.

HECATE.

Have I not reason, beldams, as you are,
Saucy, and overbold? How did you dare
To trade and traffic with Macbeth,