Give me a look, give me a face, They strike mine eyes, but not my heart. THE TRIUMPH OF CHARIS (From "A Celebration of Charis" in Underwoods, 1616) See the chariot at hand here of Love, Each that draws is a swan or a dove, As she goes, all hearts do duty Unto her beauty; And enamoured do wish, so they might But enjoy such a sight, That they still were to run by her side, Through swords, through seas, whither she would ride. Do but look on her eyes, they do light And from her arched brows, such a grace Sheds itself through the face, As alone there triumphs to the life All the gain, all the good of the elements' strife. Have you seen but a bright lily grow Have you felt the wool of beaver? Or swan's down ever? Or have smelt o' the bud o' the briar? Or have tasted the bag of the bee? O so white,—O so soft,―0 so sweet is she! SONG.-TO CYNTHIA (From Cynthia's Revels, Act V. sc. 3, 1600) Queen and huntress, chaste and fair, Now the sun is laid to sleep; Earth, let not thy envious shade Cynthia's shining orb was made Heaven to clear, when day did close; Lay thy bow of pearl apart, And thy crystal-shining quiver; Give unto the flying hart Space to breathe, how short soever: Thou that makest a day of night, Wiiliam Shakespeare 1564-1616 SILVIA (From The Two Gentlemen of Verona, IV. 2, 1598; acted about 1592-93) Who is Silvia? what is she, That all our swains commend her? Holy, fair, and wise is she, The heaven such grace did lend her, Is she kind as she is fair? For beauty lives with kindness: Then to Silvia let us sing, UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE (From As You Like It, II. 5, acted 1599) Under the greenwood tree Who loves to lie with me, And turn 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 Seeking the food he eats And pleas'd with what he gets, No enemy But winter and rough weather. O MISTRESS MINE, WHERE ARE YOU ROAMIN (From Twelfth Night, II. 3, about 1601) O mistress mine, where are you roaming? What is love? "Tis not hereafter: Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty, TAKE, OH, TAKE THOSE LIPS AWAY Take, oh take those lips away, bring again. Seals of love, but seal'd in vain, HARK, HARK, THE LARK (From Cymbeline, II. 3, 1609) Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings, And Phoebus 'gins arise, His steeds to water at those springs On chalic'd flowers that lies; And winking Mary-buds begin to ope their golden eyes; With everything that pretty is-My lady sweet, arise: Arise, arise. DIRGE (From the same, IV. 2) Fear no more the heat of the sun Fear no more the frown o' the great, To thee the reed is as the oak: Fear no more the light'ning flash; |