My limbes benumb’d with vnkind cold, my life-blood waxing chill,
As was my wont I walked forth to ease me of such ill:
But when I came in fields abroad, and view’d the wastefull spight
Of wrathfull winter, grieu’d I was to see so sad a sight:
The shadie woods, in which the birds to build their neasts were seene,
Whose wauing heads in aire shot vp were crown’d with youthfull greene:
Now clad in coate of motlie hue did maske in poore array,
Rough Boreas with his blustering blasts had blowen their leaues away:
In stead of blossomes on the boughes, the spring whilome begun,
Which through the leaues did seeme to laugh vpon the summer’s sunne,