The powr I have on you is to spare you The malice towards you to forgive you.
Posthumus
William Shakespeare
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Under the greenwood tree
Who loves to lie with me
And tune his merry note
Unto the sweet birds throat
Come hither come hither come hither.
Here shall he see
No enemy
But winter and rough weather.
- William Shakespeare -
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To me fair friend you never can be old
For as you were when first your eye I eyd
Such seems your beauty still.
- William Shakespeare -