Then to Sylvia let us sing,

That Sylvia is excelling;
She excels each mortal thing
Upon the dull earth dwelling;
To her let us garlands bring.

SONG.

[In "Cymbeline."]

FEAR no more the heat o' th' 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' th' 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 th' 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!
From it consummation have,

And renowned be thy grave!

SONG.

[From "As you Like it."]

UNDER the green-wood 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.

SONNET.

BEING your slave, what should I do, but tend
Upon the hours and times of your desire?
I have no precious time at all to spend,
Nor services to do till you require:

Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour,
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you;
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour

When you have bid your servant once adieu ! Nor dare I question with my jealous thought,

Where you may be, or your affairs suppose; But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought Save where you are: how happy you make those! So true a fool is love, that in your will Tho' you do any thing, he thinks no ill,

[From "The Passionate Pilgrim" 1599, corrected from a MS. by Mr. Malone. Vide his edition.]

WHEN as thine eye hath chose the dame,

And stall'd the deer that thou would'st strike, Let Reason rule things worthy blame, As well as Fancy (partial tike !): Take counsel of some wiser head, Neither too young, nor yet unwed.

And when thou com'st thy tale to tell,
Smooth not thy tongue with filed talk,
Lest she some subtle practice smell!
(A cripple soon can find a halt:)
But plainly say thou lov'st her well,
And set thy person forth to sell.

And to her will frame all thy ways,
Spare not to spend,—and chiefly there
Where thy desert may merit praise,
By ringing always in her ear:

The strongest castle, tower, and town,
The golden bullet beats it down.

Serve always with assured trust,
And in thy suit be humble, true ;
Unless thy lady prove unjust,

Seek never thou to choose anew.

When time shall serve be thou not slack
To proffer, tho' she put thee back.

What though her frowning brows be bent,
Her cloudy looks will clear ere night;

And then too late she will repent

That she dissembled her delight;

And twice desire, ere it be day,
That with such scorn she put away.

What though she strive to try her strength, And ban, and brawl, and say thee nay; Her feeble force will yield at length, When craft hath taught her thus to say :"Had women been so strong as men, "In faith, you had not had it then."

The wiles and guiles that women work,
Dissembled with an outward show,

The tricks and toys that in them lurk,
The cock that treads them shall not know.
Have you not heard it said full oft,
A woman's nay doth stand for nought?

But soft; enough,-too much (I fear);
For if my lady hear my song,