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UT in the greenwood free, Lord of myself to be ! Far from the fuming and fretting of men. — Surely the father was feeble then : " This be your penance," said he. All the day long mine own, Never a jarring tone ; Now shall I sing as a friar should sing, Now to the altar pure incense shall bring, Living for worship alone. Come to me, beasts so fair ; Flourish, ye rlow'rets rare, — All the creation is perfect but man ; He is the outlaw, and lives under ban, Poisons the innocent air.