Читать книгу The Complete Works of Shakespeare онлайн

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[Sings.]

The woosel cock so black of hue,

With orange-tawny bill,

The throstle with his note so true,

The wren with little quill—

Tita. [Awaking.]

What angel wakes me from my flow’ry bed?

Bot. [Sings.]

The finch, the sparrow, and the lark,

The plain-song cuckoo grey,

Whose note full many a man doth mark,

And dares not answer nay—

for indeed, who would set his wit to so foolish a bird? Who would give a bird the lie, though he cry “cuckoo” never so?

Tita.

I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again.

Mine ear is much enamored of thy note;

So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape;

And thy fair virtue’s force (perforce) doth move me

On the first view to say, to swear, I love thee.

Bot. Methinks, mistress, you should have little reason for that. And yet, to say the truth, reason and love keep little company together now-a-days. The more the pity that some honest neighbors will not make them friends. Nay, I can gleek upon occasion.

Tita. Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful.

Bot. Not so, neither; but if I had wit enough to get out of this wood, I have enough to serve mine owe turn.