Take You Me For A Sponge?

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.

Thou Know'st 'tis Common; All That Lives Must Die, Passing Through Nature To Eternity.

Short Summers Lightly Have A Forward Spring.

As Honour, Love, Obedience, Troops Of Friends, / I Must Not Look To Have; But, In Their Stead, / Curses, Not Loud But Deep, Mouth-honour, Breath, / Which The Poor Heart Would Fain Deny, And Dare Not" (5.3.25-28).

Every Great Drama Has Its Foreshadow.