WINTER. WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE; from "Love's Labour Lost." The music by Dr. ARNE. WHEN icicles hang by the wall, And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, And milk comes frozen home in the pail; Tu-whit! tu-whoo! a merry note, When all aloud the wind doth blow, And Marion's nose looks red and raw; Tu-whit! tu-whoo! a merry note, BLOW, BLOW, THOU WINTER WIND. WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE: from "As you like it." The music by Dr. ARNE. BLOW, blow, thou winter wind, Thou art not so unkind As man's ingratitude! Thy tooth is not so keen, Because thou art not seen, Although thy breath be rude. Heigh, oh! sing heigh, oh! unto the green holly, This life is most jolly. Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky; Though thou the waters warp, YOUTH AND AGE. Set as a glee by J. R. STEVENS, and as a trio by Sir H. R. BISHOP. CRABBED Age and Youth Age's breath is short; Youth is nimble, Age is lame, Youth is hot and bold Age is weak and cold; Youth is wild, and Age is tame; Age, I do abhor thee Youth, I do adore thee! Oh, my love-my love is gone. Age, I do defy thee! Oh, sweet shepherd, hie thee; "This song," says Bishop Percy, "is found in the little collection of Shakspeare's sonnets, entitled 'The Passionate Pilgrim."" In "The Garland of the Good-will," it is reprinted with the addition of four more such stanzas, but evidently written by a meaner pen. IN PRAISE OF MELANCHOLY. HENCE, all you vain delights, Welcome, folded arms and fixed eyes, Fountain-heads and pathless groves,— Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley; Milton was possibly under some obligations to this song when he wrote his "Il Penseroso." Hazlitt calls it "the perfection of this kind of writing."-(Lectures on Dram. Lit., 1840, p. 208.) It is generally attributed to Fletcher, who introduced it in the play of "The Nice Valour," act. iii. sc. 3; but the author was more probably Dr. William Strode. See "Notes and Queries," vol. i. LOSS IN DELAYS. ROBERT SOUTHWELL, born 1562, died 1596. SHUN delays, they breed remorse, Fly their fault, lest thou repent thee: Hoist up sail while gale doth last. Sober speed is wisdom's leisure: Time wears all his locks before, Seek thy salve while sore is green, Often sought, scarce ever chancing: PANGLORY'S WOOING SONG. GILES FLETCHER, born 1588, died 1623, LOVE is the blossom where there blows And the sun doth burn in love: Love the strong and weak doth yoke, While in his leaves there shrouded lay Sweet birds, for love that sing and play; And of all Love's joyful flame I the bud and blossom am. Only bend thy knee to me, Thy wooing shall thy winning be! See, see the flowers that below That as bright Aurora shows, Like unto a summer shade, But now born, and now they fade! All the sand of Tagus' shore In my bosom casts its ore; Is gladly bruised to make me wine; Only bend thy knee to me, Thy wooing shall thy winning be! THE COMMENDATION OF MUSIC. WILLIAM STRODE, born 1600, died 1664. WHEN whispering strains do softly steal With creeping passion through the heart. And at every touch we feel Our pulses beat, and bear a part; |