Golden Slumbers Kiss Your Eyes

GOLDEN slumbers kiss your eyes,

Smiles awake you when you rise.

Sleep pretty wantons, do not cry,

And I will sing a lullaby;

Rock them, rock them, lullaby.

Care is heavy, therefore sleep you;

You are care, and care must keep you.

Sleep pretty wantons, do not cry,

And I will sing a lullaby;

Rock them, rock them, lullaby.

Thomas Dekker

O, the Month of May

O, THE month of May, the merry month of May,

So frolic, so gay, and so green, so green, so green!

O, and then did I unto my true love say,

Sweet Peg, thou shalt be my Summer's Queen.

Now the nightingale, the pretty nightingale,

The sweetest singer in all the forest choir,

Entreats thee, sweet Peggy, to hear thy true love's tale:

Lo, yonder she sitteth; her breast against a brier.

But O, I spy the cuckoo, the cuckoo, the cuckoo;

See where she sitteth; come away, my joy:

Come away, I prithee, I do not like the cuckoo

Should sing where my Peggy and I kiss and toy.

O, the month of May, the merry month of May,

So frolic, so gay, and so green, so green, so green;

And then did I unto my true love say,

Sweet Peg, thou shalt be my Summer's Queen.

Thomas Dekker

Haymakers, Rakers, Reapers, and Mowers

HAYMAKERS, rakers, reapers, and mowers,

   Wait upon your summer queen.

Dress up with musk-rose her eglantine bowers,

   Daffodils strew the green.

      Sing, dance, and play,

      'Tis holiday.

   The sun does bravely shine

   On our ears of corn.

      Rich as a pearl,

      Comes every girl,

   This is mine, this is mine, this is mine;

Let us die, ere away they be borne.

Bow to the sun, to our queen, and that fair one,

   Come to behold our sports.

Each bonny lass here is counted a rare one,

   As those in princes' courts.

      These and we

      With country glee,

   Will teach the woods to resound

   And the hills with echoes hollow;

      Skipping lambs

      Their bleating dams

   'Mongst kids shall trip it round;

For joy thus our wenches we follow.

Wind, jolly huntsman, your neat bugles shrilly,

   Hounds make a lusty cry;

Spring up, you falconers, the partridges freely,

   Then let your brave hawks fly.

      Horses amain

      Over ridge, over plain,

   The dogs have the stag in chase;

   'Tis a sport to content a king:

      So ho! ho! through the skies

      How the proud bird flies,

   And sousing, kills with a grace.

Now the deer falls; hark! how they ring.

Thomas Dekker

Fortune Smiles

FORTUNE smiles, cry holiday,

Dimples on her cheeks do dwell,

Fortune frowns, cry welladay,

Her love is heaven, her hate is hell:

Since heaven and hell obey her power,

Tremble when her eyes do lour,

Since heaven and hell her power obey,

When she smiles, cry holiday.

  Holiday with joy we cry

  And bend, and bend and merrily,

  Sing Hymns to Fortune's deity,

  Sing Hymns to Fortune's deity.

Let us sing, merrily, merrily, merrily,

With our song let heaven resound,

Fortune's hands our heads have crown'd,

Let us sing merrily, merrily, merrily.

Thomas Dekker

Art Thou Poor

ART thou poor yet hast thou golden Slumbers:

     Oh sweet content!

Art thou rich yet is thy mind perplexed?

     Oh punishment.

Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vexed?

To add to golden numbers, golden numbers.

     O sweet content, O sweet content.

Work apace, apace, apace, apace:

Honest labour bears a lovely face,

Then hey noney, noney: hey, noney, noney.

Canst drink the waters of the crisped* spring,        [wavy]

     O sweet content!

Swim'st thou in wealth, yet sink'st in thine own tears,

     O punishment.

Then he that patiently wants burden bears,

No burden bears, but is a King, a King.

     O sweet content, o sweet content.

work apace, apace, apace, apace:

Honest labour bears a lovely face,

Then hey noney, noney: hey noney, noney.

Thomas Dekker

Beauty Arise

BEAUTY arise, show forth thy glorious shining,

Thine eyes feed Love, for them he standeth pining,

Honour and youth attend to do their duty,

To thee (their only sovereign) Beauty.

Beauty arise, whilst we thy servants sing,

Io to Hymen, wedlock's jocund King.

Io to Hymen, Io Io sing.

Of wedlock, love, and youth is Hymen King.

Beauty arise, beauty arise, thy glorious lights display,

Whilst we sing Io, glad to see this day.

Io Io to Hymen Io Io sing,

Of wedlock, love, and youth is Hymen King.

Thomas Dekker

Fancies Are But Streams

FANCIES are but streams

  Of vain pleasure:

They who by their dreams

  True joys measure

Feasting, starve; laughing, weep;

Playing, smart. Whilst in sleep

    Fools with shadows smiling,

  Wake and find

  Hopes like wind,

    Idle hopes beguiling.

Thoughts fly away, Time hath past 'em;

Wake now, awake, see and taste 'em.

Thomas Dekker

What Bird So Sings

WHAT bird so sings, yet so does wail,

'Tis Philomel the Nightingale;

Jug, jug, jug, tereu she cries,

And hating earth, to heaven she flies.

Ha, ha, hark, hark, the Cuckoos sing

Cuckoo, to welcome in the Spring.

Brave prick-song; who is't now we hear!

'Tis the Lark's silver lir-a-lir:

Chirrup, the Sparrow flies away;

For he fell to't ere break of day.

Ha, ha, hark hark; the Cuckoos sing

Cuckoo, to welcome in the Spring.

Thomas Dekker

Here Lies The Blithe Spring

HERE lies the blithe Spring,

Who first taught birds to sing;

Yet in April herself fell a-crying:

Then May growing hot

A sweating sickness she got,

And the first of June lay a-dying.

Yet no month can say

But her merry daughter May

Stuck her Coffin with flowers great plenty.

The Cuckoo sung in verse

An Epitaph o'er her hearse,

But assure you the lines were not dainty.

Thomas Dekker

Cast Away Care

CAST away care; he that loves sorrow

Lengthens not a day, nor can buy tomorrow:

Money is trash, and he that will spend it,

Let him drink merrily, Fortune will send it.

   Merrily, merrily, merrily, Oh ho.

   Play it off stiffly, we may not part so:

   Merrily, &c.

Wine is a Charm, it heats the blood, too;

Cowards it will arm, if the wine be good, too;

Quickens the wit, and makes the back able;

Scorns to submit to the watch or Constable.

   Merrily, &c.

Pots fly about, give us more Liquor;

Brothers of a rout, our brains will flow quicker;

Empty the Cask, score up, we care not,

Fill all the Pots again, drink on, and spare not.

   Merrily, &c.

Thomas Dekker