Of all the days of the year, upon that day,
For I had then laid [wormwood] to my dug,
[Sitting in the sun] under the dove-house wall;
My lord and you were then at Mantua,—
Nay, I do [bear a brain];—but, as I said,
When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple
Of my dug, and felt it bitter, [pretty fool],
To see it [tetchy] and fall out with the dug!
[Shake, quoth the dove-house;] 'twas no need, I trow,
To bid me trudge.