The Works of Shakespeare, Volume 1

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Macmillan and Company, limited, 1899

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Page 120 - Tu-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. When all aloud the wind doth 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, Tu-whit ; Tu-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot Arm.
Page 331 - Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell : It fell upon a little western flower, Before milk-white, now purple with love's wound, And maidens call it love-in-idleness.
Page 31 - Biron they call him ; but a merrier man, Within the limit of becoming mirth, I never spent an hour's talk withal : His eye begets occasion for his wit ; For every object that the one doth catch, The other turns to a mirth-moving jest ; Which his fair tongue (conceit's expositor,) Delivers in such apt and gracious words, That aged ears play truant at his tales, And younger hearings are quite ravished ; So sweet and voluble is his discourse.
Page 119 - Cuckoo, cuckoo : O word of fear, Unpleasing to a married ear ! 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...
Page 325 - Over hill, over dale, Thorough bush, thorough brier, Over park, over pale, Thorough flood, thorough fire, I do wander every where, 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.
Page 376 - More strange than true : I never may believe These antique fables nor these fairy toys. Lovers and madmen have such seething brains, Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend More than cool reason ever comprehends. The lunatic, the lover, and the poet Are of imagination all compact.
Page 272 - 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, That she might admired be. Is she kind as she is fair ? For beauty lives with kindness : Love doth to her eyes repair, To help him of his blindness ; And, being help'd, inhabits there. Then to Silvia let us sing, That Silvia is excelling : She excels each mortal thing, Upon the dull earth dwelling : To her let us garlands bring.

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