But thy eternal summer shall not fade.

O, I do not like that paying back, 'tis a double labor.

Yea from the table of my memory I'll wipe away all trivial fond records.

Their manners are more gentle, kind, than of Our human generation you shall find.

Well could he ride, and often men would say, "That horse his mettle from his rider takes: Proud of subjection, noble by the sway, What rounds, what bounds, what course, what stop he makes!" And controversy hence a question takes, Whether the horse by him became his deed, Or he his manage by the well-doing steed.

Have more than thou showest, Speak less than thou knowest, Lend less than thou owest.

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.