  Where the bee sucks, there suck I: In a cowslip’s bell I lie; There I couch, when owls do cry: On the bat’s back I do fly After summer merrily. Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, Under the blossom that hangs on the bough! Come unto these yellow sands, And then take hands: Courtsied when you have and kiss’d The wild waves whist, W. Shakespeare. |
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