Poet's

Antony and Cleopatra, Act II, Scene II [The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne]

Enobarbus describes Queen Cleopatra


Enobarbus: I will tell you.
The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne,
Burned on the water: the poop was beaten gold;
Purple the sails, and so perfumed that
The winds were lovesick with them; the oars were silver,
Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made
The water which they beat to follow faster,
As amorous of their strokes. For her own person,
It beggar'd all description: she did lie
In her pavilion, cloth-of-gold of tissue,
O'erpicturing that Venus where we see
The fancy outwork nature: on each side her
Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids,
With divers-colour'd fans, whose wind did seem To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool, And what they undid did.

Agrippa: O, rare for Antony.

Enobarbus: Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides,
So many mermaids, tended her i' th' eyes,
And made their bends adornings. At the helm
A seeming mermaid steers: the silken tackle
Swell with the touches of those flower-soft hands
That yarely frame the office. From the barge
A strange invisible perfume hits the sense
Of the adjacent wharfs. The city cast
Her people out upon her; and Antony,
Enthroned i' th' marketplace, did sit alone,
Whistling to th' air; which, but for vacancy, Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too, And made a gap in nature.

Agrippa: Rare Egyptian!

Enobarbus: Upon her landing, Antony sent to her,
Invited her to supper. She replied
It should be better he became her guest;
Which she entreated. Our courteous Antony,
Whom ne'er the word of "No" woman heard speak,
Being barbered ten times o'er, goes to the feast, And for his ordinary, pays his heart For what his eyes eat only.

Agrippa: Royal wench!
She made great Caesar lay his sword to bed; He plowed her, and she cropped.

Enobarbus: I saw her once
Hop forty paces through the public street;
And having lost her breath, she spoke, and panted, That she did make defect perfection, And, breathless, pow'r breathe forth.

Maecenas: Now Antony must leave her utterly.

Enobarbus: Never; He will not:
Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale
Her infinite variety. Other women cloy
The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry
Where most she satisfies; for vilest things Become themselves in her, that the holy priests Bless her when she is riggish.

Aubade

HARK! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
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 everything that pretty bin, My lady sweet, arise!
Arise, arise!

Blow, Blow, Thou Winter Wind

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 freindship if feigning, most loving mere folly:
Then heigh-ho, the holly!
This life is most jolly.

Freeze, freeze thou bitter sky, That does not bite so nigh As benefits forgot:
Though thou the waters warp, Thy sting is not so sharp
As a friend remembered not.
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.

Bridal Song

ROSES, their sharp spines being gone,
Not royal in their smells alone,
   But in their hue;
Maiden pinks, of odour faint,
Daisies smell-less, yet most quaint,
   And sweet thyme true;

Primrose, firstborn child of Ver;
Merry springtime's harbinger,
   With her bells dim;
Oxlips in their cradles growing,
Marigolds on death-beds blowing,
   Larks'-heels trim;

All dear Nature's children sweet
Lie 'fore bride and bridegroom's feet,    Blessing their sense!
Not an angel of the air,
Bird melodious or bird fair,
   Be absent hence!

The crow, the slanderous cuckoo, nor
The boding raven, nor chough hoar,
   Nor chattering pye,
May on our bride-house perch or sing, Or with them any discord bring,    But from it fly!

Dirge

COME away, come away, death,
   And in sad cypres let me be laid;
Fly away, fly away, breath;
   I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white, stuck all with yew,    O prepare it! My part of death, no one so true    Did share it.

Not a flower, not a flower sweet,
   On my black coffin let there be strown;
Not a friend, not a friend greet
   My poor corse, where my bones shall be thrown:
A thousand thousand sighs to save,
   Lay me, O, where
Sad true lover never find my grave    To weep there!

Dirge Of The Three Queens

URNS and odours bring away!
   Vapours, sighs, darken the day!
Our dole more deadly looks than dying;
   Balms and gums and heavy cheers,    Sacred vials fill'd with tears, And clamours through the wild air flying!

   Come, all sad and solemn shows,
   That are quick-eyed Pleasure's foes!
   We convent naught else but woes.

Fairy Land I

OVER hill, over dale,
   Thorough bush, thorough brier,
   Over park, over pale,
   Thorough flood, thorough fire,
   I do wander everywhere,
   Swifter than the moone'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 dew-drops here, And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.

Fairy Land Ii

YOU spotted snakes with double tongue,
   Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen;
Newts and blind-worms, do no wrong;
   Come not near our fairy queen.

   Philomel, with melody,
   Sing in our sweet lullaby;
   Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby!
   Never harm,
   Nor spell nor charm,    Come our lovely lady nigh;    So, good night, with lullaby.

Weaving spiders, come not here;
   Hence, you long-legg'd spinners, hence!
Beetles black, approach not near;
   Worm nor snail, do no offence.

   Philomel, with melody,
   Sing in our sweet lullaby;
   Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby!
   Never harm,
   Nor spell nor charm,    Come our lovely lady nigh;    So, good night, with lullaby.

Fairy Land Iii

COME unto these yellow sands,
   And then take hands:
Court'sied when you have, and kiss'd,-   The wild waves whist,--
Foot it featly here and there; And, sweet sprites, the burthen bear.    Hark, hark!    Bow, wow,
   The watch-dogs bark:
   Bow, wow.
   Hark, hark! I hear
   The strain of strutting chanticleer    Cry, Cock-a-diddle-dow!

Fear No More

Fear no more the heat o' the sun;
Nor the furious winter's rages,
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages; Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney sweepers come to dust.

Fear no more the frown of 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-dread 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!