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Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song,
That old and antique song we heard last night.
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Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song,
That old and antique song we heard last night.
Methought it did relieve my passion much,
More than light airs and recollected terms
Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times.
Come, but one verse.
I had wanted to say that my song was far too painful to sing.
I had wanted to say that my song was far too painful to sing.
I cannot sing the old songs
Though well I know the tune,
Familiar as a cradle-song
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I cannot sing the old songs
Though well I know the tune,
Familiar as a cradle-song
With sleep-compelling croon;
Yet though I'm filled with music,
As choirs of summer birds,
"I cannot sing the old songs"--
I do not know the words.
Verse sweetens toil, however rude the sound;
She feels no biting pang the while she sings,
Nor read more
Verse sweetens toil, however rude the sound;
She feels no biting pang the while she sings,
Nor as she turns the giddy wheel around,
Revolves the sad vicissitudes of things.
We are tenting tonight on the old camp ground,
Give us a song to cheer.
We are tenting tonight on the old camp ground,
Give us a song to cheer.
Sing a song of sixpence.
Sing a song of sixpence.
Song forbids victorious deeds to die.
Song forbids victorious deeds to die.
Songs consecrate to truth and liberty.
Songs consecrate to truth and liberty.
Everything ends with songs.
[Fr., Tout finit par des chansons.]
Everything ends with songs.
[Fr., Tout finit par des chansons.]