1.Hence，loath？d Melancholy！
Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born，In Stygian cave forlorn，‘Mongst horrid shapes，and shrieks，and sights unholy：Find out some uncouth cell，Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings，And the night-raven sings；There，under ebon shades，and low-browed rocks，As ragged as thy locks，In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell！
But come，thou Goddess fair and free，In Heaven ycleped Euphrosyne，And by men，heart-easing Mirth.......
2.Haste thee，Nymph ！and bring with thee Jest，and youthful Jollity，Quips，and cranks，and wanton wiles，Nods，and becks，and wreath？d smiles，Such as hang on Hebe’s cheek，And love to live in dimple sleek；Sport，that wrinkled Care derides；And Laughter，holding both his sides.
3.Come，and trip it，as ye go，On the light fantastic toe；And in thy right hand lead with thee The mountain nymph，sweet Liberty：And，if I give thee honour due，Mirth！admit me of the crew；To live with her，and live with thee，In unreprov？d pleasures free；4.To hear the lark begin his flight，And，singing，startle the dull Night From his watch-tower in the skies，Till the dappled dawn doth rise；Then to come，in spite of sorrow，And at my window bid good-morrow，Through the sweet-brier，or the vine，Or the twisted eglantine：
While the cock，with lively din，Scatters the rear of darkness thin；And to the stack，or the barn door Stoutly struts his dames before：
5.Oft listening how the hounds and horn Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn，From the side of some hoar hill Through the high wood echoing shrill：Some time walking，not unseen，By hedgerow elms on hillocks green，Right against the eastern gate，Where the great sun begins his state，Robed in flames and amber light，The clouds in thousand liveries dight：While the ploughman，near at hand，Whistles o‘er the furrowed land；And the milkmaid singeth blithe；And the mower whets his scythe；And every shepherd tells his tale Under the hawthorn in the dale.
6.Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures，Whilst the landscape round it measures Russet lawns，and fallows grey，Where the nibbling flocks do stray；Mountains，on whose barren breast The labouring clouds do often rest；Meadows trim with daisies pied；Shallow brooks and rivers wide.Towers and battlements it sees Bosomed high in tufted trees；Where perhaps some beauty lies，The Cynosure of neighbouring eyes.
7.Hard by，a cottage chimney smokes From betwixt two aged oaks；Where Corydon and Thyrsis，met，Are at their savoury dinner set，Of herbs，and other country messes，Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses；And then in haste the bower she leaves，With Thestylis to bind the sheaves；Or，if the earlier season lead，To the tanned haycock in the mead.
8.Sometimes with secure delight The upland hamlets will invite；When the merry bells ring round，And the jocund rebecks soundTo many a youth and many a maid，Dancing in the chequered shade；And young and old come forth to play On a sunshine holiday，Till the livelong daylight fail；Then to the spicy nut-brown ale，With stories told of many a feat，How fairy Mab the junkets eat.
9.She was pinched and pulled，she said；And he，by friar’s lantern led ；Tells how the drudging goblin sweat To earn his cream-bowl duly set；When，in one night，ere glimpse of morn，His shadowy flail hath threshed the corn That ten day-labourers could not end；Then lies him down the lubber fiend，And，stretched out all the chimney‘s length，Basks at the fire his hairy strength；And crop-full out of doors he flings，Ere the first cock his matin rings.
Thus done the tales，to bed they creep，By whispering winds soon lulled asleep.
10.Towered cities please us then，And the busy hum of men；Where throngs of knights and barons bold，In weeds of peace，high triumphs hold；With store of ladies，whose bright eyes Rain influence，and judge the prizeOf wit，or arms；while both contend To win her grace，whom all commend.
11.There let Hymen oft appear，In saffron robe，with taper clear；And pomp，and feast，and revelry，With mask，and antique pageantry，-Such sights as youthful poets dream On summer eves by haunted stream.Then to the well-trod stage anon，If Jonson’s learned sock be on；Or sweetest Shakespeare，Fancy‘s child，Warble his native wood-notes wild.
12.And ever，against eating cares，Lap me in soft Lydian airs，Married to immortal verse，Such as the meeting soul may pierce，In notes，with many a winding bout Of link？d sweetness long drawn out；With wanton heed，and giddy cunning，The melting voice through mazes running；Untwisting all the chains that tieThe hidden soul of harmony；That Orpheus’self may heave his head From golden slumber on a bedOf heaped Elysian flowers，and hear Such strains as would have won the ear Of Pluto，to have quite set freeHis half-regained Eurydice.
1.Hence，vain deluding joys！
The brood of Folly without father bred；How little you bestead，Or fill the fix？d mind with all your toys！Dwell in some idle brain，And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess，As thick and numberlessAs the gay motes that people the sunbeams；Or likest hovering dreams，The fickle pensioners of Morpheus‘train.
2.But hail，thou Goddess，sage and holy，Hail，divinest Melancholy！
Whose saintly visage is too bright To hit the sense of human sight；And therefore，to our weaker view，O’erlaid with black，staid wisdom‘s hue，-Black，but such as in esteemPrince Memnon’s sister might beseem；Or that starred Ethiop queen that strove To set her beauty‘s praise aboveThe sea nymphs，and their powers offended.......
3.Come，pensive nun ！devout and pure，Sober，steadfast，and demure；All in a robe of darkest grain，Flowing with majestic train；And sable stole of cipres lawn，Over thy decent shoulders drawn Come！but keep thy wonted state，With even step，and musing gait，And looks commercing with the skies，Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes：There，held in holy passion still，Forget thyself to marble，till，With a sad，leaden，downward cast，Thou fix them on the earth as fast.
4.And join with thee calm Peace，and Quiet，Spare Fast，that oft with gods doth diet，And hears the Muses in a ringAye round about Jove’s altar sing；And add to these retir？d Leisure，That in trim gardens takes his pleasure：But first，and chiefest，with thee bring Him that soars on golden wing，Guiding the fiery-wheel？d throne，The cherub Contemplation；And the mute Silence hist along，‘Less Philomel will deign a song，In her sweetest，saddest plight，Smoothing the rugged brow of night；While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke，Gently o’er th‘accustomed oak：
5.Sweet bird，that shunn’st the noise of folly，Most musical，most melancholy！
Thee，chantress，oft，the woods among，I woo to hear thy even-song；And，missing thee，I walk unseenOn the dry，smooth-shaven green，To behold the wandering moon，Riding near her highest noon，Like one that had been led astrayThrough the Heaven‘s wide pathless way；And oft，as if her head she bowed，Stooping through a fleecy cloud.
6.Oft，on a plat of rising ground，I hear the far-off curfew sound Over some wide-watered shore，Swinging slow with sullen roar：Or，if the air will not permit，Some still，remov？d place will fit，Where glowing embers，through the room，Teach light to counterfeit a gloom；Far from all resort of mirth，Save the cricket on the hearth，Or the bellman’s drowsy charm，To bless the doors from nightly harm：
7.Or let my lamp，at midnight hour，Be seen in some high lonely tower，Where I may oft out-watch the Bear，With thrice-great Hermes；or unsphere The spirit of Plato，to unfoldWhat worlds or what vast regions hold The immortal mind that hath forsook Her mansion in this fleshly nook；And of those d？mons that are found In fire，air，flood，or under ground，Whose power hath a true consent With planet，or with element.......
8.Thus，Night！oft see me in thy pale career，Till civil-suited Morn appear；Not tricked and frounced，as she was wontWith the Attic boy to hunt，But kerchiefed in a comely cloud，While rocking winds are piping loud；Or ushered with a shower still，When the gust hath blown his fill，Ending on the rustling leavesWith minute drops from off the eaves.
9.And when the sun begins to fling His flaring beams，me，Goddess！bring To arch？d walks of twilight groves，And shadows brown，that Sylvan loves，Of pine，or monumental oak，Where the rude axe，with heav？d stroke，Was never heard the nymphs to daunt，Or fright them from their hallowed haunt.
10.There，in close covert by some brook，Where no profaner eye may look，Hide me from day‘s garish eye；While the bee with honeyed thigh，That at her flow’ry work doth sing，And the waters murmuringWith such consort as they keep，Entice the dewy-feathered Sleep；And let some strange mysterious dreamWave at his wings in airy stream Of lively portraiture displayed，Softly on my eyelids laid.
And，as I wake，sweet music breathe，Above，about，or underneath，Sent by some spirit to mortals good，Or th‘unseen genius of the wood.
11.But let my due feet never fail To walk the studious cloister’s pale；And love the high embow？d roof，With antique pillars massy proof，And storied windows richly dight，Casting a dim religious light.
There let the pealing organ blow To the full voiced quire below，In service high，and anthems clear，As may with sweetness，through mine ear，Dissolve me into ecstasies，And bring all Heaven before mine eyes.
12.And may，at last，my weary age Find out the peaceful hermitage，The hairy gown and mossy cell，Where I may sit，and rightly spellOf every star that Heaven doth shew，And every herb that sips the dew；Till old experience do attainTo something like prophetic strain.
These pleasures，Melancholy！give，And I with thee will choose to live.
WOLSEY ON HIS FALL
Wolsey，charged with high treason，is deprived of the Great Seal and of all his goods and lands.]
1.Wolsey.Farewell，a long farewell，to all my greatness！
This is the state of man：to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hopes；to-morrow blossoms，And bears his blushing honours thick upon him；The third day comes a frost，a killing frost，And，-when he thinks，good easy man，full surely His greatness is a-ripening，-nips his root，And then he falls，as I do.
2.I have ventured，
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders，This many summers in a sea of glory，But far beyond my depth：my high-blown pride At length broke under me；and now has left me，Weary and old with service，to the mercyOf a rude stream，that must for ever hide me.Vain pomp and glory of this world，I hate ye：I feel my heart new opened.
3.Oh，how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes‘favours！There is，betwixt that smile we would aspire to，That sweet aspéct of princes，and their ruin，More pangs and fears than wars or women have：And when he falls，he falls like Lucifer，Never to hope again.......
4.Cromwell.......How does your grace
Wolsey.Why，well；Never so truly happy，my good Cromwell.I know myself now；and I feel within me A peace above all earthly dignities，A still and quiet conscience.The king has cured me，I humbly thank his grace；and from these shoulders，These ruined pillars，out of pity，takenA load would sink a navy，-too much honour：Oh，’tis a burden，Cromwell，‘tis a burdenToo heavy for a man that hopes for heaven！......What news abroad？......
5.Cromwell.The Lady Anne，Whom the king hath in secrecy long married，This day was viewed in open as his queen，Going to chapel ；and the voice is nowOnly about her coronation.
6.Wolsey.There was the weight that pulled me down.
The king has gone beyond me ：all my glories In that one woman I have lost for ever：
No sun shall ever usher forth mine honours，Or gild again the noble troops that waitedUpon my smiles.Go，get thee from me，Cromwell；I am a poor fall’n man，unworthy nowTo be thy lord and master.Seek the king ：
That sun，I pray，may never set！I have told him What and how true thou art：he will advance thee；Some little memory of me will stir him-I know his noble nature-not to letThy hopeful service perish too：good Cromwell，Neglect him not ；make use now，and provide For thine own future safety.
7.Cromwell.O my lord，Must I then leave you？Must I needs foregoSo good，so noble，and so true a master？Bear witness，all that have not hearts of iron，With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord.-The king shall have my service；but my prayers For ever and for ever shall be yours.
8.Wolsey.Cromwell，I did not think to shed a tear In all my miseries；but thou hast forced me，Out of thy honest truth，to play the woman.
Let‘s dry our eyes：and thus far hear me，Cromwell；And，-when I am forgotten，as I shall be，And sleep in dull cold marble，where no mentionOf me more must be heard of，say，I taught thee，-Say，Wolsey，-that once trod the ways of glory，And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour，-Found thee a way，out of his wreck，to rise in-A sure and safe one，though thy master missed it.
9.Mark but my fall，and that that ruined me.
Cromwell，I charge thee，fling away ambition；By that sin fell the angels；how can man，then，The image of his Maker，hope to win by it？
Love thyself last ；cherish those hearts that hate thee；Corruption wins not more than honesty.
Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace，To silence envious tongues.Be just，and fear not：Let all the ends thou aim’st at be thy country‘s，Thy God’s，and truth‘s；then if thou fall’st，O Cromwell，Thou fall‘st a blessed martyr！
10.Serve the king；
And，--prithee，lead me in：
There take an inventory of all I have，To the last penny；’tis the king‘s：my robe，And my integrity to Heaven，is allI dare now call my own.O Cromwell，Cromwell！Had I but served my God with half the zealI served my king，He would not in mine age Have left me naked to mine enemies.Mark Antony occupies the rostrum after Brutus has left it.His speech is a very skilful piece of pleading.He works on the sense of justice of the citizens，on their cupidity，on their pity，on their vengeance，and，while professing to have no such purpose，stirs them up to mutiny.]
1.Antony.Friends，Romans，countrymen，lend me your ears；I come to bury C？sar，not to praise him.
The evil that men do lives after them；The good is oft interr？d with their bones；So let it be with C？sar.The noble Brutus Hath told you C？sar was ambitious：
If it were so，it was a grievous fault，And grievously hath C？sar answered it.
Here，under leave of Brutus and the rest，-For Brutus is an honourable man；So are they all，all honourable men，-Come I to speak in C？sar‘s funeral.
2.He was my friend，faithful and just to me：But Brutus says he was ambitious；And Brutus is an honourable man.
He hath brought many captives home to Rome，Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill：
Did this in C？sar seem ambitious？
When that the poor have cried，C？sar hath wept：Ambition should be made of sterner stuff：
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious；And Brutus is an honourable man.
3.You all did see that on the Lupercal I thrice presented him a kingly crown，Which he did thrice refuse：was this ambition？Yet Brutus says he was ambitious ；And，sure，he is an honourable man.
I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke，But here I am to speak what I do know.
You all did love him once，not without cause：What cause withholds you，then，to mourn for him？O judgment！thou art fled to brutish beasts，And men have lost their reason.-Bear with me；My heart is in the coffin there with C？sar，And I must pause till it come back to me.......
4.But yesterday the word of C？sar might Have stood against the world；now lies he there，And none so poor to do him reverence.O masters，if I were disposed to stirYour hearts and minds to mutiny and rage，I should do Brutus wrong，and Cassius wrong，Who，you all know，are honourable men.
I will not do them wrong；I rather choose To wrong the dead，to wrong myself and you，Than I will wrong such honourable men.
5.But here’s a parchment with the seal of C？sar；I found it in his closet，‘tis his will：
Let but the commons hear this testament，-Which，pardon me，I do not mean to read，-And they would go and kiss dead C？sar’s wounds，And dip their napkins in his sacred blood，Yea，beg a hair of him for memory，And，dying，mention it within their wills，Bequeathing it as a rich legacyUnto their issue.......
6.Citizens.The will，the will！we will hear C？sar‘s will.
Antony.Have patience，gentle friends，I must not read it；It is not meet you know how C？sar loved you.
You are not wood，you are not stones，but men；And，being men，hearing the will of C？sar，It will inflame you，it will make you mad：
’Tis good you know not that you are his heirs；For，if you should，oh，what would come of it！
A Citizen.Read the will ；we‘ll hear it，Antony.......
Antony.You will compel me，then，to read the will？
Then make a ring about the corpse of C？sar，And let me show you him that made the will.Shall I descend？and will you give me leave？
Several Citizens.Come down.[Antony comes down.
7.Antony.If you have tears，prepare to shed them now.
You all do know this mantle：-I remember The first time ever C？sar put it on；’Twas on a summer‘s evening，in his tent，That day he overcame the Nervii：-Look，in this place ran Cassius’dagger through：
See what a rent the envious Casca made：Through this the well-belov？d Brutus stabbed；And as he plucked his cursed steel away，Mark how the blood of C？sar followed it，As rushing out of doors，to be resolvedIf Brutus so unkindly knocked，or no ；For Brutus，as you know，was C？sar‘s angel：-Judge，O you gods，how dearly C？sar loved him！
8.This was the most unkindest cut of all：For when the noble C？sar saw him stab，Ingratitude，more strong than traitors’arms，Quite vanquished him：then burst his mighty heart；And，in his mantle muffling up his face，Even at the base of Pompey‘s statua，Which all the while ran blood，great C？sar fell.Oh，what a fall was there，my countrymen ！Then I，and you，and all of us fell down，Whilst bloody treason flourished over us.
9.Oh，now you weep；and，I perceive，you feel The dint of pity：these are gracious drops.
Kind souls，what，weep you when you but behold Our C？sar’s vesture wounded？Look you here，Here is himself，marred，as you see，with traitors.
A Citizen.O piteous spectacle！......
All.Revenge！--About！-Seek！-Burn！-Fire！-Kill！-Slay！-Let not a traitor live！
10.Antony.Good friends，sweet friends，let me not stir you upTo such a sudden flood of mutiny.
They that have done this deed are honourable：What private griefs they have，alas，I know not，That made them do it：they are wise and honourable，And will，no doubt，with reasons answer you.
I come not，friends，to steal away your hearts：I am no orator，as Brutus is；But，as you know me all，a plain blunt man，That love my friend；and that they know full well That gave me public leave to speak of him；11.For I have neither wit，nor words，nor worth，Action，nor utterance，nor the power of speech，To stir men‘s blood ：I only speak right on；I tell you that which you yourselves do know；Show you sweet C？sar’s wounds，poor，poor dumb mouths，And bid them speak for me ：but were I Brutus，And Brutus Antony，there were an Antony Would ruffle up your spirits，and put a tongueIn every wound of C？sar，that should move The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny.
TO A SKYLARK.
1.Hail to thee，blithe spirit！
Bird thou never wert，That from heaven，or near it，Pourest thy full heartIn profuse strains of unpremeditated art.
2.Higher still，and higher，From the earth thou springest，Like a cloud of fire；The blue deep thou wingest，And singing still dost soar，and soaring ever singest.
3.In the golden lightning Of the sunken sun，O‘er which clouds are bright’ning，Thou dost float and run，Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun.
4.The pale purple even Melts around thy flight；Like a star of heaven，In the broad daylightThou art unseen，but yet I hear thy shrill delight.
5.Keen as are the arrows Of that silver sphere，Whose intense lamp narrows In the white dawn clear，Until we hardly see，we feel that it is there.
6.All the earth and air With thy voice is loud，As，when night is bare，From one lonely cloudThe moon rains out her beams，and heaven is over-flowed.
7.What thou art we know not；What is most like thee？
From rainbow clouds there flow not Drops so bright to see，As from thy presence showers a rain of melody.
8.Like a poet hidden In the light of thought，Singing hymns unbidden，Till the world is wroughtTo sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not.
9.Like a high-born maiden In a palace tower，Soothing her love-laden Soul in secret hourWith music sweet as love，which overflows her bower.
10.Like a glowworm golden In a dell of dew，Scattering unbeholden Its a？rial hueAmong the flowers and grass which screen it from the view.
11.Like a rose embowered In its own green leaves，By warm winds deflowered，Till the scent it givesMakes faint with too much sweet these heavy-wing？d thieves.
12.Sound of vernal showers On the twinkling grass，Rain-awakened flowers，All that ever wasJoyous，and clear，and fresh，thy music doth surpass.
13.Teach us，sprite or bird，What sweet thoughts are thine；I have never heardPraise of love or wineThat panted forth a flood of rapture so divine.
14.Chorus hymene Or triumphal chant Matched with thine would be all But an empty vaunt-A thing where in we feel there is some hidden want.
15.We look before and after，And pine for what is not；Our sincerest laughterWith some pain is fraught ；Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.
16.Yet if we could scorn Hate，and pride，and fear；If we were things bornNot to shed a tear，I know not how thy joy we ever could come near.
17.Better than all measures Of delight and sound，Better than all treasuresThat in books are found，Thy skill to poet were，thou scorner of the ground.
18.Teach me half the gladness That thy brain must know，Such harmonious madness From my lips would flow，The world should listen then，as I am listening now.
