Now My Charms Are All O'erthrown.

Hear Me Profess Sincerely: Had I A Dozen Sons, Each In My Love Alike, And None Less Dear Than Thine And My Good Marcius, I Had Rather Have Eleven Die Nobly For Their Country Than One Voluptuously Surfeit Out Of Action.

Under The Greenwood Tree, Who Loves To Lie With Me And Tune His Merry Note, Unto The Sweet Bird's Throat; Come Hither, Come Hither, Come Hither. Here Shall He See No Enemy But Winter And Rough Weather.

Know My Name Is Lost, By Treason's Tooth Bare-gnawn And Canker-bit; Yet Am I Noble As The Adversary I Come To Cope.

It Is Certain That Either Wise Bearing Or Ignorant Carriage Is Caught As Men Take Diseases, One Of Another.

And Where Two Raging Fires Meet Together, They Do Consume The Thing That Feeds Their Fury.