UNDER the greenwood tree
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Who loves to lie with me,
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And tune his merry note
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Unto the sweet bird's
throat—
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Come hither, come hither, come hither!
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Here
shall he see
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No
enemy
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But winter and rough weather.
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Who doth ambition shun
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And loves to live i' the
sun,
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Seeking the food he eats
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And pleased with what he
gets—
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|
Come hither, come hither, come hither!
|
|
Here
shall he see
|
|
No
enemy
|
|
But winter and rough weather.
William Shakespeare
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Saturday, October 17, 2020
Under the greenwood tree
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