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WHEN ICICLES HANG.
When all aloud the wind doth blow,
And coughing drowns the parson's saw,
And Marian's nose looks red and raw;
Tu-whit! tu-whoo! a merry note,
THE NYMPH'S REPLY
TO THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD.
IF all the world and love were young,
Time drives the flocks from field to fold,
The rest complain of cares to come.
THE NYMPH'S REPLY.
The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy belt of straw and ivy buds,
But could youth last, and love still breed
SIR WALTER RAI EIGH.