Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Burg. Should not in this best Garden of the World,
Burg. Our fertile France, put vp her louely Visage?
Burg. Alas, shee hath from France too long been chas'd,
Burg. And all her Husbandry doth lye on heapes,
Burg. Corrupting in it owne fertilitie.
Burg. Her Vine, the merry chearer of the heart,
Burg. Vnpruned, dyes: her Hedges euen pleach'd,
Burg. Like Prisoners wildly ouer-growne with hayre,
Burg. Put forth disorder'd Twigs: her fallow Leas,
Burg. The Darnell, Hemlock, and ranke Femetary,
Burg. Doth root vpon; while that the Culter rusts,
Burg. That should deracinate such Sauagery:
Burg. The euen Meade, that erst brought sweetly forth
Burg. The freckled Cowslip, Burnet, and greene Clouer,
Burg. Wanting the Sythe, withall vncorrected, ranke;
Burg. Conceiues by idlenesse, and nothing teemes,
Burg. But hatefull Docks, rough Thistles, Keksyes, Burres,
Burg. Loosing both beautie and vtilitie;
Burg. And all our Vineyards, Fallowes, Meades, and Hedges,
Burg. Defectiue in their natures, grow to wildnesse.