Heaven Give You Many, Many Merry Days.

And Therefore Is Love Said To Be A Child, Because In Choice He Is So Oft Beguil'd

And Be These Juggling Friends No More Believ'd, That Palter With Us In A Double Sense; That Keep The Word Of Promise To Our Ear And Break It To Our Hope.

When Daffodils Begin To Peer, With Heigh! The Doxy, Over The Dale, Why, Then Comes In The Sweet O' The Year; For The Red Blood Reigns In The Winter's Pale. The White Sheet Bleaching On The Hedge, With Heigh! The Sweet Birds, O, How They Sing! Doth Set My Pugging Tooth On Edge; For A Quart Of Ale Is A Dish For A King.

Thou Art An Elm, My Husband, I A Vine.

You See Me Here, You Gods, A Poor Old Man, As Full Of Grief As Age; Wretched In Both.