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How begot, how nourished?
It is engender'd in the eyes,
With gazing fed ; and fancy dies
In the cradle where it lies :
Let us all ring fancy's knell ;
I'll begin it,ding, dong, bell.
Ding, dong, bell.
UNDER the greenwood tree
Who loves to lie with me,
And tune his merry note
Unto the sweet bird's throat,
Come hither, come hither, come hither;
Here shall he see
But winter and rough weather.
Who doth ambition shun,
And loves to live i' the sun,
Seeking the food he eats,
And pleas'd with what he gets,
Come hither, come hither, come hither!
Here sball he see
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.
Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
That dost not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot:
Though thou the waters warp,
Thy string is not so sharp
As friend remember'd not.
Heigh, ho! sing, heigh, ho! &c.
WHERE hast thou been, sister?
A sailor's wife had chesnuts in her lap.
And mounch'd, and mounch'd, and mounch'd :-
Give me, quoth I ;
Aroint thee, witch! the rump-fed ronyon cries.
Her husband's to Aleppo gone, master o'the Tiger;
But in a sieve I'll thither sail
And, like a rat without a tail,
I'll do, I'll do, I'll do.
I myself have all the other ;
And the very ports they blow,
Ali the quarters that they know
I'the shipman's card.
I will drain him dry as hay,
Sleep shall, neither night nor day,
Hang upon his pent-house lid;
He shall live a man forbid:
Weary sev'n-nights, nine times nine,
Shall he dwindle, peak, and pine :
Though his bark cannot be lost,
Yet it shall be tempest-toss'd,
Look what I have.
Here I have a pilot's thumb,
Wreck d, as homeward he did come.
A drum, a drum;
Macbeth doth come.
The weird sisters, hand in hand, Posters of the sea and land, Thus do go about, about; Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine, And thrice again to make up nine; Peace! the charm's wound up.
Why, how now, Hecate! you look angerly.
Have I not reason, beldams, as you are,
Saucy, and overbold ? How did you dare
To trade and traffic with Macbeth,
In riddles, and affairs of death ;
And I, the mistress of your charms,
The close contriver of all harms,
Was never call'd to bear my part,
Or show the glory of our art?
And which is worse,
Hath been but for a wayward son,
Spiteful, and wrathful, who, as others do,
Loves for his own ends, not for you.
But make amends now: get you gone,
And at the pit of Acheron
Meet me i'the morning ; thither he
Will come to know his destiny.
Your vessels, and your spells, provide,
Your charms, and every thing beside :
I am for the air; this night I'll spend
Unto a dismal and a fatal end.
Great business must be wrought ere noon;
Upon the corner of the moon
There hangs a vaporous drop profound,
I'll catch it, ere it come to ground: