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THE ICE-KING. 
The wrathful Winter prochynge on a pace, 
With blust’ring blastes had al ybared the treen, 
An old Saturnus with his frosty face 
With chilling colde had pearst the tender green ; 
The mantles rent wherein enwrapped been 
The gladsom groves that nowe longe overthrowen, 
The tapets torn, and every blome down blowen. 
The soyle that earst so semely was to seen. 
Was all despoyled of her beauties hewe : 
And soote freshe flowers (wherewith the summer’s queen 
Had clad the earth) now Boreas blastes downe blewe. 
And small fowles flocking in their song did rewe 
The winter’s wrath, wherewith eche thing defaste 
In woful wise bewayled the summer past. 
Hawthorne had lost his motley lyverye, 
The naked twigges were shivering all for colde; 
And dropping down the teares abundantly; 
Eche thing (me thought), with weping eye me tolde 
The cruell season, bidding me with-holde 
My selfe within, for I was gotten out 
Into the feldes, wheras I walkte about. 
Sackville. 
Scowling Winter looked grimly out 
From the gate of his icy Hall; 
But the Forest trees were still wrapped about 
In their painted splendour, and in the route 
Of the merry breeze waved they all. 
Too gay and bright 
Seemed their garb to him. 
K K 2 
