And gives to every power a double power,

Above their functions and their offices.
It adds a precious seeing to the eye:
A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind;
A lover's ear will hear the lowest sound,
When the suspicious head of theft is
stopp'd;

Love's feeling is more soft and sensible Than are the tender horns of cockled snails;

Love's tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in taste;

For valor, is not love a Hercules,

Still climbing trees in the Hesperides? Subtle as sphinx; as sweet and musical As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair;

And, when love speaks, the voice of all the gods

Makes heaven drowsy with the harmony, Never durst poet touch a pen to write Until his ink were temper'd with love's sighs:

O, then his lines would ravage savage

ears,

And plant in tyrants mild humility.

WINTER.

[From Love's Labour's Lost.]

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 i' the
pail;

When blood is nipt, and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
Tu-whoo!

Tu-whit; tu-whoo! a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

When all aloud the wind doth blow, And coughing drown the parson's saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow,

And Marion's nose looks red and raw; When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, Then nightly sings the staring owl, Tu-whoo!

Tu-whit! tu-whoo! a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

But not intentively. I did consent; And often did beguile her of her tears, When I did speak of some distressful stroke,

That my youth suffer'd. My story being done,

She gave me for my pains a world of sighs: She swore— - In faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange;

'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful: She wish'd she had not heard it; yet she wish'd

That Heaven had made her such a man: she thank'd me;

And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her,

I should but teach him how to tell my

story,

And that would woo her. Upon this

hint, I spake:

She loved me for the dangers I had pass'd;

And I loved her, that she did pity them. This only is the witchcraft I have used.

THE GARDEN SCENE.

[From Romeo and Juliet.]

Romeo. HE jests at scars that never felt a wound.

But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks!

It is the east, and Juliet is the sun! Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thou her maid art far more fair than she:

Be not her maid, since she is envious:
Her vestal livery is but sick and green,
And none but fools do wear it; cast it
off.

It is my lady; O, it is my love:
O, that she knew she were!
She speaks, yet she says nothing; what
of that?

the morn,

No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks

Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east;

Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day

Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops:

I must be gone and live, or stay and die. Juliet. Yon light is not daylight, I know it, I:

It is some meteor that the sun exhales, To be to thee this night a torch-bearer, And light thee on thy way to Mantua; Therefore stay yet, thou need'st not to be gone.

Romeo. Let me be ta'en, let me be
put to death:

I am content, so thou wilt have it so.
I'll say, yon gray is not the morning's

eye,