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, As benefits forgot: 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; Or a harlot for her weeping; Timon of Athens, i. 2. X. DIRGES. 1. HERO'S EPITAPH. DONE to death by slanderous tongues Was the Hero that here lies: Gives her fame that never dies: 3. 2. A SEA-GRAVE. (Ariel sing3.) FULL fathom five thy father lies: The Tempest, i. 2. 3. TO JULIET. (Paris loq.) SWEET flower, with flowers thy bridal bed I strew- Or, wanting that, with tears distilled by moans. 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; SONNETS. I. HARMONY. MUSIC to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly? O, how shall summer's honey breath hold out Nor gates of steel so strong, but Time decays? 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, When I, perhaps, compounded am with clay, 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 THEY that have power to hurt and will do none, Who, moving others, are themselves as stone, And husband nature's riches from expense; 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. |