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Under the greenwood tree.

I.

UNDER the greenwood tree
Who loves to lie with me,

And turn 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.

II.

Who doth ambition shun,

And loves to live i' th' sun,

Seeking the food he eats,

And pleas'd with what he gets,

Come hither, come hither, come hither; Here shall he see

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No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change!

No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change !
Thy pyramids, built up with newer might,
To me are nothing novel, nothing strange;
They are but dressings of a former sight.
Our dates are brief, and therefore we admire
What thou dost foist upon us that is old;

And rather make them born to our desire

Than think that we before have heard them told.

Thy registers and thee I both defy,

Not wond'ring at the present nor the past,
For thy records, and what we see, do lie,
Made more or less by thy continual haste.
This I do vow, and this shall ever be,
I will be true, despite thy scythe and thee.

Now the hungry lion roars.

Now the hungry lion roars,

And the wolf behowls the moon;

Whilst the heavy ploughman snores,
All with weary task fordone.
Now the wasted brands do glow,

Whilst the scritch-owl, scritching loud,

Puts the wretch that lies in woe,

In remembrance of a shroud.

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