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WHEN ICICLES HANG.
When all aloud the wind doth blow,
And coughing drowns the parson's saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow,
And Marian's nose looks red and raw;
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
Tu-whit tu-whoo! a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
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
Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall.
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.