Ere yet the trees have shed their scope of tears,
Stands muttering in the zenith. Come then, friend.
I have an aged cousin living in the city,
And she will shelter you. As for myself—
If’t please you that I may remain with you,
Your servant, I’d be glad indeed. That once
I loved you ere you wedded (and do still),
If such a poor humpt creature as myself
Dare call his sighing love, will not disgust you
Who know it—for I never have conceal’d it.