With a new fashion, when Christmas is come on, Like a young, &c. With a gentleman-usher, whose carriage is complete, With a footman, a coachman, a page to carry the meat, With a waiting-gentlewoman, whose dressing is very neat, Who, when the master hath din'd, gives the servants little meat, Like a young, &c. With a new honour, bought with his father's old gold, 0. SONG XLIV. BY SHAKSPEARE.* WHEN daffodils begin to peer,— With, hey! the doxy over the dale !— # Sung by Autolycus, in the 'Winter's Tale.' The white sheet bleaching on the hedge, With, hey! the sweet birds; O, how they sing!Doth set my pugging tooth on edge; For a quart of ale is a dish for a king! The lark, that tirra-lirra chants,— With, hey! with, hey! the thrush and the jay,Are summer songs for me and my aunts, As we lie tumbling in the hay. SONG XLV. SPRING. BY THE SAME.*. WHEN daysies pied, and violets blue, Do paint the meadows with delight; When shepherds pipe on oaten straws, * In the comedy of 'Love's Labour Lost.' The cuckow then, on every tree, Mocks married men, for thus sings he,- WHEN icicles hang by the wall, And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, And Tom bears logs into the hall, And milk comes frozen home in pail, Tu-whit, to-whoo;-a merry note ! 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; Tu-whit, to-whoo;-a merry note ! VOL. II. * In the comedy of 'Love's Labour lost." M. UNDER the green-wood tree, And tune 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, And loves to live i' the sun, Seeking the food he eats, And pleas'd with what he gets; Come hither, come hither, come hither; Here shall he see No enemy, But winter and rough weather. SONG XLVIII. TOM OF BEDLAM. FORTH from my dark and dismal cell, Mad Tom is come to view the world again, * In the comedy of As you like it.' Fears and cares oppress my soul; Hark! how the angry furies howl! Through the world I wander night and day, To find my straggling senses: In an angry mood I found old Time, When me he spies, Away he flies, For time will stay for no man : In vain with cries, I rend the skies, For pity is not common. Cold and comfortless I lie : Hark! I hear Apollo's team, And the boar begins to bristle. Come, Vulcan, with tools and with tackles, To bring me my senses again. Last night I heard the dog-star bark; |