No other noyse, nor people's troublous cryes,
As still are wont t'annoy the walled towne,
Might there be heard; but careless quiet lyes
Wrapt in eternall silence farre from enimyes.
[Footnote 94: Rejoice.]
[Footnote 95: First, formerly.]
[Footnote 96: Spring.]
WILLIAM SHAKSPERE.
SONNET XC.
Then hate me when thou wilt: if ever, now:
Now, while the world is bent my deeds to cross,
Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow,
And do not drop in for an after loss.
Ah! do not when my heart hath scaped this sorrow,
Come in the rearward of a conquered woe;
Give not a windy night a rainy morrow,
To linger out a purposed overthrow.
If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last,
When other petty griefs have done their spite;
But in the onset come: So shall I taste
At first the very worst of fortune's might;
And other strains of woe, which now seem woe,
Compared with loss of thee, will not seem so.
SONG.
[From _As You Like It_.]
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 ho! Sing heigh ho! unto the green holly:
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly,
Then heigh ho! the holly!
This life is most jolly.
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