Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song,
That old and antique song we heard last night.
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Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song,
That old and antique song we heard last night.
Methought it did relieve my passion much,
More than light airs and recollected terms
Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times.
Come, but one verse.

Everything ends with songs.
[Fr., Tout finit par des chansons.]

Everything ends with songs.
[Fr., Tout finit par des chansons.]

I can not sing the old songs now!
It is not that I deem them low,
'Tis read more

I can not sing the old songs now!
It is not that I deem them low,
'Tis that I can't remember how
They go.

Songs consecrate to truth and liberty.

Songs consecrate to truth and liberty.

And grant that when I face the grisly Thing,
My song may trumptet down the gray Perhaps
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And grant that when I face the grisly Thing,
My song may trumptet down the gray Perhaps
Let me be as a tune-swept fiddlestring
That feels the Master Melody--and snaps.

If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.

If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.

Song forbids victorious deeds to die.

Song forbids victorious deeds to die.

The song on its mighty pinions
Took every living soul, and lifted it gently to heaven.

The song on its mighty pinions
Took every living soul, and lifted it gently to heaven.

She makes her hand hard with labour, and her heart soft with
pity: and when winter evenings fall early read more

She makes her hand hard with labour, and her heart soft with
pity: and when winter evenings fall early (sitting at her merry
wheel), she sings a defiance to the giddy wheel of
fortune . . . and fears no manner of ill because she means none.