Reading The Winters Tale — William Shakespeare

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Section 382

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When Daffadils begin to peere,

With heigh the Doxy ouer the dale,

Why then comes in the sweet o’the yeere,

For the red blood raigns in y4 winters pale.

The white sheete bleaching on the hedge,

With hey the sweet birds, O how they sing:

Doth set my pugging tooth an edge,

For a quart of Ale is a dish for a King.

The Larke, that tirra Lyra chaunts,

With heigh, the Thrush and the Iay:

Are Summer songs for me and my Aunts

While we lye tumbling in the hay.

I haue seru’d Prince Florizell, and in my time wore

three

pile, but now I am out of seruice.

But shall I go mourne for that (my deere)

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