Bulchevy's Book of English Verse - novelonlinefull.com
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When shepherds pipe on oaten straws, And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks, When turtles tread, 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!
William Shakespeare. 1564-1616
126. Spring and Winter ii
WHEN icicles hang by the wall, And d.i.c.k the shepherd blows his nail, And Tom bears logs into the hall, And milk comes frozen home in pail, When blood is nipp'd, and ways be foul, Then nightly sings the staring owl, To-whit!
To-who!--a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
When all aloud the wind doe 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-whit!
To-who!--a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
keel] skim.
William Shakespeare. 1564-1616
127. Fairy Land i
OVER hill, over dale, Thorough bush, thorough brier, Over park, over pale, Thorough flood, thorough fire, I do wander everywhere, Swifter than the moone's sphere; And I serve the fairy queen, To dew her orbs upon the green: The cowslips tall her pensioners be; In their gold coats spots you see; Those be rubies, fairy favours, In those freckles live their savours: I must go seek some dew-drops here, And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.
William Shakespeare. 1564-1616
128. Fairy Land ii
YOU spotted snakes with double tongue, Th.o.r.n.y hedgehogs, be not seen; Newts and blind-worms, do no wrong; Come not near our fairy queen.
Philomel, with melody, Sing in our sweet lullaby; Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby!
Never harm, Nor spell nor charm, Come our lovely lady nigh; So, good night, with lullaby.
Weaving spiders, come not here; Hence, you long-legg'd spinners, hence!
Beetles black, approach not near; Worm nor snail, do no offence.
Philomel, with melody, Sing in our sweet lullaby; Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby!
Never harm, Nor spell nor charm, Come our lovely lady nigh; So, good night, with lullaby.
William Shakespeare. 1564-1616
129. Fairy Land iii
COME unto these yellow sands, And then take hands: Court'sied when you have, and kiss'd,-- The wild waves whist,-- Foot it featly here and there; And, sweet sprites, the burthen bear.
Hark, hark!
Bow, wow, The watch-dogs bark: Bow, wow.
Hark, hark! I hear The strain of strutting chanticleer Cry, c.o.c.k-a-diddle-dow!
William Shakespeare. 1564-1616
130. Fairy Land iv
WHERE the bee sucks, there suck I: In a cowslip's bell I lie; There I couch when owls do cry.
On the bat's back I do fly After summer merrily: Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.
William Shakespeare. 1564-1616
131. Fairy Land v
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: Ding-dong.
Hark! now I hear them-- Ding-dong, bell!
William Shakespeare. 1564-1616
132. Love
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.
All. Ding, dong, bell.
William Shakespeare. 1564-1616
133. Sweet-and-Twenty
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.
What is love? 'tis not hereafter; Present mirth hath present laughter; What 's to come is still unsure: In delay there lies no plenty; Then come kiss me, sweet-and-twenty!
Youth 's a stuff will not endure.
William Shakespeare. 1564-1616
134. Dirge
COME away, come away, death, And in sad cypres 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 corse, where my bones shall be thrown: A thousand thousand sighs to save, Lay me, O, where Sad true lover never find my grave To weep there!
