Let life be short, else shame will be too long.
The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, Burnt on the water.
A rarer spirit never Did steer humanity; but you gods will give us Some faults to make us men.
There's place and means for every man alive.
She told her, while she kept it, 'Twould make her amiable and subdue my father Entirely to her love, but if she lost it Or made a gift of it, my father's eye Should hold her loathed and his spirits should hunt After new fancies.
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 No enemy But winter and rough weather.