VENUS' RUNAWAY Beauties, have ye seen this toy, He hath marks about him plenty: And his breath a flame entire, That, being shot like lightning in, Trust him not; his words, though sweet, All his practice is deceit; Every gift it is a bait; Not a kiss but poison bears; And most treason in his tears. Idle minutes are his reign; Then, the straggler makes his gain, To have all childish as himself. If by these ye please to know him, Ben Jonson THE KISS 1. Among thy fancies tell me this: 2. Chor. It is a creature born and bred It is an active flame that flies First to the babies of the eyes, And charms them there with lullabies; Chor. And stills the bride too when she cries. Then to the chin, the cheek, the ear, It frisks and flies, now here, now there; Chor. And here, and there, and everywhere. 1. Has it a body?—2. Ay, and wings, Chor. Love honey yields, but never stings. THE WHITE ROSE Robert Herrick SENT BY A YORKISH LOVER TO HIS LANCASTRIAN MISTRESS If this fair rose offend thy sight, Placed in thy bosom bare, "Twill blush to find itself less white And turn Lancastrian there. But if thy ruby lip it spy, As kiss it thou mayst deign, With envy pale 'twill lose its dye, Anon FAIRY SONG Shed no tear! O shed no tear! To ease my breast of melodies, Shed no tear. Overhead! look overhead! 'Mong the blossoms white and red, The flower will bloom another year. Adieu, adieu - I vanish in the heaven's blue, Adieu, adieu! John Keats OVER HILL, OVER DALE Over hill, over dale, Thorough bush, thorough brier, Over park, over pale, Thorough flood, thorough fire, I do wander everywhere, Swifter than the moon'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 dewdrops here, And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear. William Shakespeare As thy softest limbs I feel, Oh the cunning wiles that creep WILLIE WINKIE Wee Willie Winkie rins through the town, Up stairs and doon stairs, in his nicht-gown, "Are the weans in their bed? - for it's now ten o'clock." Hey, Willie Winkie! are ye comin' ben? The cat's singin' gay thrums to the sleepin' hen, The doug's speldered on the floor, and disna gie a cheep; But here's a waukrife laddie, that winna fa' asleep. Ony thing but sleep, ye rogue: - glow'rin' like the moon, Rumblin', tumblin' roun' about, crawin' like a cock, Hey, Willie Wink e! the wean's in a creel! Wearie is the mither that has a storie wean, SOUND, SOUND THE CLARION Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife! One crowded hour of glorious life Sir Walter Scott |