📔 The Tempest

I'll show thee the best springs; I'll pluck thee berries; / I'll fish for thee, and get thee wood enough. / A plague upon the tyrant that I serve! / I'll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee, / Thou wondrous man.

Now would I give a thousand furlongs of Sea, for an Acre of barren ground: Long heath, Browne firrs, any thing; the wills above be done, but I would faine dye a dry death.

Heigh, my hearts! Cheerly, cheerly, my hearts.

Sir, I invite your Highness and your train / To my poor cell, where you shall take your rest / For this one night

[T]here thou maist braine him, / Having first seiz'd his bookes: […] Remember / First to possesse his Bookes; for without them / Hee's but a Sot, as I am; […]

all thy vexations / Were but my trials of thy love and thou / Hast strangely stood the test here

Why, as I told thee, 'tis a custom with him / I' th' afternoon to sleep: there thou may'st brain him, / Having first seiz'd his books; or with a log / Batter his skull, or paunch him with a stake, / Or cut his wezand with thy knife

How lush and lusty the grasse lookes ? How greene ?