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RABBED Age and Youth

Youth is full of pleasance,
Age is full of care ;
Youth like summer morn,
Age like winter weather,
Youth like summer brave,
Age like winter bare :
Youth is full of sport,
Age's breath is short,
Youth is nimble, Age is lame :
Youth is hot and bold,
Age is weak and cold,
Youth is wild, and Age is tame :
Age, I do abhor thee,
Youth, I do adore thee;
O! my Love, my Love is young !
Age, I do defy thee –
O sweet shepherd, hie thee,
For methinks thou stay'st too long.

W. Shakespeare



NDER 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.

Who doth ambition shun
And loves to live i’ the sun,
Seeking the food he eats

And pleased with what he gets
Come hither, come hither, come hither !

Here shall he see

No enemy

But winter and rough weather.

W. Shakespeare



T was a lover and his lass

With a hey and a ho, and a hey-nonino ! That o'er the green cornfield did pass In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, When birds do sing hey ding a ding :

Sweet lovers love the Spring.

Between the acres of the rye
These pretty country folks would lie :

This carol they began that hour,
How that life was but a flower :


And therefore take the present time

With a hey and a ho and a hey-nonino !
For love is crowned with the prime
In spring time, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing hey ding a ding :
Sweet lovers love the Spring.

W. Shakespeare



ABSENCE hear thou my protestation

Against thy ,

Distance, and length;
Do what thou canst for alteration :

For hearts of truest mettle
Absence doth join, and Time doth settle.

Who loves a mistress of such quality,

He soon hath found

Affection's ground
Beyond time, place, and all mortality.

To hearts that cannot vary
Absence is Presence, Time doth tarry.

By absence this good means I gain,

That I can catch her,

Where none can watch her,
In some close corner of my brain :

There I embrace and kiss her ;
And so I both enjoy and miss her.





EING your slave, what should I do but tend

Upon the hours and time of your desire ? I have no precious time at all to spend Nor services to do, till you require :

Nor dare I chide the world-without-end-hour
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour
When have bid your servant once adieu :


Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
But like a sad slave, stay and think of nought
Save, where you are, how happy you make those ; –


So true a fool is love, that in your will,
Though you do anything, he thinks no ill.

W. Shakespeare



OW like a winter hath my absence been

From Thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year ! What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen, What old December's bareness everywhere !

And yet this time removed was summer's time :
The teeming autumn, big with rich increase,
Bearing the wanton burden of the prime
Like widow'd wombs after their lords' decease :

Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me
But hope of orphans, and unfather'd fruit;
For summer and his pleasures wait on thee,
And, thou away, the very birds are mute ;

Or if they sing, 't is with so dull a cheer,
That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near.

W. Shakespeare




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THEN in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes

I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate ;

Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possest,
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;

Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on Thee — and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate ;

For thy sweet love remember'd, such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

W. Shakespeare




NEVER say that I was false of heart,

Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify :
As easy might I from myself depart
As from my soul, which in thy breast doth lie;

That is my home of love ; if I have ranged,
Like him that travels, I return again,

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