Adieu! I Have Too Grieved A Heart

Who Would Be So Mocked With Glory, Or To Live But In A Dream Of Friendship, To Have His Pomp And All What State Compounds But Only Painted, Like His Varnished Friends?

At Christmas I No More Desire A Rose Than Wish A Snow In May's New-fangled Mirth; But Like Of Each Thing That In Season Grows.

Strong Reasons Make Strong Actions.

Here Feel We But The Penalty Of Adam, The Seasons' Difference, As The Icy Fang And Churlish Chiding Of The Winter's Wind, Which, When It Bites And Blows Upon My Body, Even Till I Shrink With Cold, I Smile.

It Is The Stars, The Stars Above Us, Govern Our Conditions.