I Envy Those Jacks That Kiss thy Hand（1/2）

Willia Shakespeare

How oft when thou, y ic, ic pyst,

Upon that blessed wood whose otion sounds

With thy sweet fgers when thou gently swayst

The wiry nrd that e ear nfounds,

Do I envy those jacks that nible leap,

To kiss the tender ward of thy hand,

Whilst y poor lips which should that harvest reap,

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