There is a willow grows aslant the
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy
There with fantastic garlands did she
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies and
That liberal shepherds give a grosser
But our cold maids do dead men´s
fingers call them.
Come, sit thee down upon this
While I thy amiable cheeks do coy,
And stick musk-roses in thy sleek
And kiss thy fair large ears, my
(A Midsummer Night´s Dream)
By the Lord, a buck basket! Ramm´d
me in with foul shirts and smocks,
socks, foul stockings!
(The Merry Wives of Windsor)