Everything that heard him play,
Even the billows of the sea,

Hung their heads, and then lay by—
In sweet music is such art:
Killing care, and grief of heart,
Fall asleep, or, hearing, die.

HAMLET.

OPHELIA'S SONGS.

I

How should I your true love know

From another one?

By his cockle hat and staff,
And his sandal shoon.

He is dead and gone, lady,
He is dead and gone;

At his head a grass-green turf,

At his heels a stone.

White his shroud as the mountain snow,
Larded all with sweet flowers,
Which bewept to the grave did go,
With true-love showers.

2

GOOD morrow, 'tis Saint Valentine's day,

All in the morning betime,

And I a maid at your window,

To be your Valentine.

Then up he rose, and donned his clothes,

And dupped the chamber door;

Let in the maid, that out a maid
Never departed more.

*To do open, abbreviated into dup, or do up.

The meaning is ex

plained by Dr. Nares:- Some gates and doors were opened by lifting up as port-cullises, and that kind of half-door swinging on two hinges at the top, which is still seen in some shops.'-Glossary. It also applies to doors with latches.

By Gis, and by Saint Charity,
Alack, and fy for shame!

Young men will do it, if they come to it;
By cock, they are to blame.

Quoth she, before you tumbled me,

You promised me to wed:

So would I ha' done, by yonder sun,
An thou hadst not come to my bed.

Ν

GRAVE-DIGGER'S SONG.*

IN youth when I did love, did love,

Methought, it was very sweet,

To contract, O, the time, for, ah! my behove
O, methought, there was nothing meet.

* These stanzas are from the poem of The Aged Lover renounceth Love, written by Lord Vaux.-See Surrey's Poems [Ann. Ed. p. 226]. In Shakespeare's time Lord Vaux's poem was one of the popular ballads of the day, and Shakespeare appears to have altered the verses to suit them the better to the character of the grave-digger; unless we are to suppose that corruptions had crept into the broad-sheet. The following are the original stanzas:

'I loathe that I did love

In youth that I thought sweet,
As time requires for my behove,
Methinks they are not meet.

But age, with his stealing steps,
Hath clawed me in his clutch,
And hath shipped me intil the land,
As if I had never been such.

ARK! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,

HARE

And Phoebus 'gins arise,

His steeds to water at those springs

On chaliced flowers that lies;

And winking Mary-buds begin
To ope their golden eyes;
With every thing that pretty bin :*
My lady sweet, arise;
Arise, arise.

FEAR

THE DIRGE OF IMOGEN.

EAR no more the heat o' the sun
Nor the furious winter's rages;

Thou thy wordly task hast done,
Home art gone and ta'en thy wages:
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

For Age with stealing steps

Hath clawed me with his clutch,
And lusty Life away she leaps
As there had been none such.

A pick-axe and a spade,

And eke a shrouding sheet,
A house of clay for to be made

For such a guest most meet.'

* Printed is in the folio, changed by Hanmer to bin.

Fear no more the frown o' the 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 the 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!
Quiet consummation have;
And renowned be thy grave!

OTHELLO.

ΚΙ

KING STEPHEN.

ING Stephen was a worthy peer,

His breeches cost him but a crown;
He held them sixpence all too dear,
With that he called the tailor lown.

He was a wight of high renown,

And thou art but of low degree:
"Tis pride that pulls the country down,
Then tak thy auld cloak about thee.*

* An English version of the old ballad (supposed to have been originally Scotch) from which these stanzas are taken will be found in Percy's Reliques, i. 153, ed. 1844.

THE WILLOW SONG.

THE poor soul sat singing by a sycamore tree,
Sing all a green willow;

Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee,
Sing willow, willow, willow:

The fresh streams ran by her, and murmured her moans;
Her salt tears fell from her, and softened the stones;
Sing willow, willow, willow;

Sing all a green willow must be my garland.*

KING LEAR.

THE FOOL'S SONG.

FOOLS had ne'er less grace in a year;
For wise men are grown foppish;
And know not how their wits to wear,
Their manners are so apish.

Then they for sudden joy did weep,
And I for sorrow sung,

That such a king should play bo-peep,
the fool among.

And

go

* This is the opening verse of an old ballad adapted to Desdemona by changing the sex of the forsaken lover. The following are the words of the original :

'A poor soul sat sighing under a sycamore tree;

'O willow, willow, willow!'

With his hand on his bosom, his head on his knee;

'O willow, willow, willow!

O willow, willow, willow!

Sing, O the green willow shall be my garland.''

The whole ballad is given from a black-letter copy in the Pepys' Collection by Bishop Percy.-Reliques, i. 156. For the first Willow Song, see ante, p. 25.