Choose where thou wilt， whilst I sit by and sing，
Or gather rushes to make many a ring，
For the long fingers； tell thee tales of love，
How the pale Phoebe， hunting in a grove，
Firs...
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Choose where thou wilt， whilst I sit by and sing，
Or gather rushes to make many a ring，
For the long fingers； tell thee tales of love，
How the pale Phoebe， hunting in a grove，
Firs...