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.

I

MMORTAL gods, I crave no pelf;

I pray for no man but myself:

Grant I may never prove so fond,
To trust man on his oath or bond;

Or a harlot, for her weeping;

Or a dog, that seems a-sleeping;

Or a keeper with my freedom;

Or my friends, if I should need 'em.

Amen. So fall to't:

Rich men sin, and I eat root.

L

OVE, Love, nothing but Love, still more!

For, O, love's bow

Shoots buck and doe:

The shaft confounds,

Not that it wounds,

But tickles still the sore.

These lovers cry Oh! oh! they die!

Yet that which seems the wound to kill,

Doth turn oh! oh! to ha! ha! he!

So dying love lives still :

Oh! oh! a while, but ha! ha! ha!

Oh! oh! groans out for ha! ha! ha!

-Heigh-ho!

W

HEN icicles hang by the wall

And Dick the shepherd blows his nail

And Tom bears logs into the hall

And milk comes frozen home in pail, When blood is nipp'd and ways be foul,

Then nightly sings the staring owl,

Tu-whit;

Tu-who;-a merry note ;

While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.