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Behold, My Love, How Green The Groves

Tune—"My lodging is on the cold ground."

     Behold, my love, how green the groves,
     The primrose banks how fair;
     The balmy gales awake the flowers,
     And wave thy flowing hair.

     The lav'rock shuns the palace gay,
     And o'er the cottage sings:
     For Nature smiles as sweet, I ween,
     To Shepherds as to Kings.

     Let minstrels sweep the skilfu' string,
     In lordly lighted ha':
     The Shepherd stops his simple reed,
     Blythe in the birken shaw.

     The Princely revel may survey
     Our rustic dance wi' scorn;
     But are their hearts as light as ours,
     Beneath the milk-white thorn!

     The shepherd, in the flowery glen;
     In shepherd's phrase, will woo:
     The courtier tells a finer tale,
     But is his heart as true!

     These wild-wood flowers I've pu'd, to deck
     That spotless breast o' thine:
     The courtiers' gems may witness love,
     But, 'tis na love like mine.

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