I.
A. Beautiful weather for the time of year!
B. A perfect spell, indeed, of halcyon calm,
Most grateful here in Town, and, what is more,
A priceless gift to our brave lads in France,
Whose need is sorer, being sick of mud.
A. They have our first thoughts ever, and, if Heaven
Had not enough good weather to go round,
Gladly I'd sacrifice this present boon
And welcome howling blizzards, hail and flood,
So they, out there, might still be warm and dry.