And you see my harvest, what I reap
This very day, now a year is run.
IV.
There’s nobody on the house-tops now—
Just a palsied few at the windows set;
For the best of the sight is, all allow,
At the Shambles’ Gate—or, better yet,
By the very scaffold’s foot, I trow.
V.
I go in the rain, and, more than needs,