I Have Pursued Her, As Love Hath

We Are Advertis'd By Our Loving Friends.

Life's But A Walking Shadow, A Poor Player, That Struts And Frets His Hour Upon The Stage, And Then Is Heard No More; It Is A Tale Told By An Idiot, Full Of Sound And Fury, Signifying Nothing.

It Was A Lover And His Lass, With A Hey, And A Ho, And A Hey Nonino, That O'er The Green Corn-field Did Pass, In The Spring Time, The Only Pretty Ring Time, When Birds Do Sing, Hey Ding A Ding, Ding; Sweet Lovers Love The Spring.

Graze On My Lips; And If Those Hills Be Dry, Stray Lower, Where The Pleasant Fountains Lie.

Use Every Man After His Desert, And Who Should Scape Whipping?