HERE stood the elme, whose shade so mildly dim The grasse grows thickest, men are fresher made; The olive that in wainscot never cleans; The amorous vine which in the elme still weaves ; The walnut-loving vales, the mulberry; The maple, ashe, that doe delight in fountains, To frame an arbour that might keep within it, Browne. SONG. UNDER the greenwood tree And tune his merry note Come hither, come hither, come hither; No enemy, But winter and rough weather. Who doth ambition shun And pleased with what he gets, Come hither, come hither, come hither; No enemy, But winter and rough weather. Shakspeare. |