most pyteous Wayle.
The sadde Man whistled in a dismall sort,
And the poore thinge slunk away, and hid his Tayle.

I felt my verie Bloud creepe in my vaynes;
My Bones were icie-cold; my Hayr on ende.
I wishd myself agen uponn the Playnes,
Yet cold not but that sadde old Man attende.

The sadde old Man sate down upon a Stone,
And I sate on another by his Side;
He heaved mournfullie a pyteous Grone,
And then, to ease my doubts, himself applied.

'Straunger!' quoth he, 'Behold my Visage welle,
And graspe this bonie Hand so thinne agenn!
How manie Winters thinkest thou I telle?'
I answered doubtinglie: 'Three-Score and Tenn.'

'Straunger! not fourty yeares agoe I lay
A puling Infant in my Nurse's arms:
Not fourty daies agoe two Daughters gay
Did blesse my Vision with their dawning Charms.

'Yet now I am an olde and worn-out Man,
And evrie droppe of Bloud hath left my Vaynes;
Als' my fayr Daughters twaine lie cold and wan
And bloudless, bound in Deathe's eternal Chaynes.

'Straunger! This Towne, so pleasant to our sightes,
With goodlie Towers and running Streames so faire,
Whilom for tender Maydes and doughtie Knightes
From all Hungaria's Londe the Prize did beare.

'But now, the verie fewe that here remayne
Are sobbing out their Breath in sorie Guise;
All that might flie, have fled this mournfull playne
But onlie I, who wishe to close mine eyes.

'Seaven Weekes are gon since owr Townesfolke beganne
To wax both pale and sadd, yet none knewe why:
The ruddiest Visage yellowe seemed and wanne,
Our stoutest Youthes for very cold did cry.

'Some Doctours sed the Lakes did Agewes breede,
But Springe returning wold the same disperse;
Whyles others, contrarie to Nature's creede,
Averred the Heate itself wold make us worse.

'And though we leugh at these, like Doaters fonde,
Or Menn that love in Paradox to deale;
Yett, as the Sunn grew warme, throughout the Londe,
All Menn the more did wintrie shiverings feele.

'One miserable Wight did pyne and wane,
And on the seaventh Daie gave upp the Ghoste;
His Corse was oped by a Chirurgeon of fame
Who found that evrie dropp of bloud was loste.

'Nathless, our People though they pined and pined,
Yet never did our appetites decaye;