This only grant me: that my means may lie

This said, old Nestor mixt the lots. The foremost lot surveyed

This world a hunting is

Thou blind man's mark, thou fool's self-chosen snare

Thou that mak'st gain thy end, and wisely well

Thou who some ages hence these rolls dost read
Though clock .

Though you be absent here, I needs must say
Thrice happy he who by some shady grove
Thrice, O thrice happy shepherd's life and state
Thrice the brinded cat hath mewed
Thrice toss these oaken ashes in the air

Time was, and that was termed the time of gold
Tired with all these, for restful death I cry
To draw no envy, Shakspeare, on thy name
To me, fair friend, you never can be old
To whom the Fiend, with fear abasht, replied
To-night, grave sir, both my poor house and I
Two loves I have of comfort and despair
Two pretty rills do meet, and, meeting. make

Under the greenwood tree

Underneath this sable herse

We saw, and wooed each other's eyes

We saw Thee in Thy balmy nest

.

Weep no more, nor sigh, nor groan

Weep you no more, sad fountains

Well-meaning readers, you that come as friends

Were I as base as is the lowly plain

What bird so sings, yet so does wail

What is it all that men possess, among themselves conversing

What needs my Shakespear for his honoured bones

What time this worlds great Workmaister did cast

When a daffadil I see

When, fearing tears should win

When God at first made man

334

289

314

135

235

24

192

324

279

314

235

227

132

144

181

121

200

123

412

193

125

247

128

243

286

298

218

156

300

108

92

143

341

30

264

326

257