From “Twelfth Night,” Act II. Sc. 3.
O MISTRESS mine, where are you roaming?
O, stay and hear! your true-love ’s coming
That can sing both high and low;
Trip no further, pretty sweeting,
Journeys end in lovers’ meeting,—
Every wise man’s son doth know.
What is love? ’t is not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;...
Whoe’er she be,
That not impossible She
That shall command my heart and me:
Where’er she lie,
Locked up from mortal eye
In shady leaves of destiny:
Till that ripe birth
Of studied Fate stand forth,
And teach her fair steps tread our earth;
Till that divine
Idea take a shrine
Of crystal flesh, through...
Elizabeth, Queen of Bohemia
YOU meaner beauties of the night,
That poorly satisfy our eyes
More by your number than your light,—
You common people of the skies,
What are you when the moon shall rise?
You curious chanters of the wood,
That warble forth Dame Nature’s lays,
Thinking your passions understood
By your...
