Bid The Dishonest Man Mend Himself; If

I Will Be Free, Even To The Uttermost, As I Please, In Words.

Where The Bee Sucks, There Suck I In The Cow-slip's Bell I Lie There I Couch When Owls Do Cry

Nature, As It Grows Again Toward Earth, Is Fashioned For The Journey, Dull And Heavy.

And In The Morn And Liquid Dew Of Youth, Contagious Blastments Are Are Most Imminent.

Through The Forest Have I Gone. But Athenian Found I None, On Whose Eyes I Might Approve This Flower's Force In Stirring Love. Night And Silence.--who Is Here? Weeds Of Athens He Doth Wear: This Is He, My Master Said, Despised The Athenian Maid; And Here The Maiden, Sleeping Sound, On The Dank And Dirty Ground. Pretty Soul! She Durst Not Lie Near This Lack-love, This Kill-courtesy. Churl, Upon Thy Eyes I Throw All The Power This Charm Doth Owe. When Thou Wakest, Let Love Forbid Sleep His Seat On Thy Eyelid: So Awake When I Am Gone; For I Must Now To Oberon.