Where we did plaÿ at even-fall,
Below the linden on the lawn.
OUR ABODE IN ARBY WOOD.
Though ice do hang upon the willows
Out bezide the vrozen brook,
An' storms do roar above our pillows,
Drough the night, 'ithin our nook;
Our evenèn he'th's a-glowèn warm,
Drough wringèn vrost, an' roarèn storm,