So cruel prison how could betide, alas, As proud Windsor
Where I in lust and joy With a king's son my childish years did pass In greater feast than Priam's sons of Troy; Where each sweet place returns a taste full sour: The large green courts...
SS that cruel doubt, dear youth
That starting tear, that sigh reprove;
Why dost thou wrong thine Emma's truth,
And think that aught can change my love
Time, cruel Time, come and subdue that brow Which conquers all but thee, and thee, too, stays As if she were exempt from scythe or bow,
From love or years unsubject to decays
Or art thou grown in league with those fair eyes That they may...
The cruel Moon hangs out of reach Up above the shadowy beech
Her face is stupid, but her eye Is small and sharp and very sly
Nurse says the Moon can drive you mad
No, that’s a silly story, lad