Who will not suffer the stormy time,
Where will he live till the lusty prime?
Self have I worn out thrice thirty years,
Some in much joy, many in many tears,
Yet never complained of cold nor heat,
Of summer’s flame, nor of winter’s threat,
Ne ever was to Fortune foeman,
But gently took that ungently came;
And ever my flock was my chief care;
Winter or summer they might well fare.
CUD. No marvel, Thenot, if thou can bear
Cheerfully the winter’s wrathful cheer;
For age and winter accord full nigh,
This chill, that cold; this crooked, that wry;
And as the louring weather looks down,
So seemest thou like Good Friday3 to frown:
But my flow’ring youth is foe to frost,
My ship unwont in storms to be tost.
THE. The sovereign of seas he blames in vain,
That, once sea-beat, will to sea again:
So loit’ring live you little herdgrooms,
Keeping your beasts in the budded brooms;
And, when the shining sun laugheth once,
You deemen, the spring is come at once;
Then gin you, fond flies! the cold to scorn,
And, crowing in pipes made of green corn,
You thinken to be lords of the year;
But eft, when ye count you freed from fear,
Comes the breme Winter with chamfred brows,
Full of wrinkles and frosty furrows,
Drearily shooting his stormy dart,
Which curdles the blood and pricks the heart:
Then is your careless courage accoyed,
Your careful herds with cold be annoyed:
Then pay you the price of your surquedry,
With weeping, and wailing, and misery.
CUD. Ah! foolish old man! I scorn thy skill,
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