春天。另外四个我把没有带来,的four times four the last Quaternion, The Winter, Summer, Autumn & the Spring, In season all these Seasons I shall bring: Sweet Spring like man in his Minority, At present claim'd, and had priority. With smiling face and garments somewhat green, She trim'd her locks, which late had frosted been, Nor hot nor cold, she spake, but with a breath, Fit to revive, the nummed earth from death. Three months (quoth she) are 'lotted to my share March, April, May of all the rest most fair. Tenth of the first, Sol into Aries enters, And bids defiance to all tedious winters, Crosseth the Line, and equals night and day, (Stil adds to th'last til after pleasant May) And now makes glad the darkned northern wights Who for some months have seen but starry lights. Now goes the Plow-man to his merry toyle, He might unloose his winter locked soyl: The Seeds-man too, doth lavish out his grain, In hope the more he casts, the more to gain: The Gardner now superfluous branches lops, And poles erects for his young clambring hops. Now digs then sowes his herbs, his flowers & roots And carefully manures his trees of fruits. The Pleiades their influence now give, And all that seem'd as dead afresh doth live. The croaking frogs, whom nipping winter kil'd Like birds now chirp, and hop about the field, The Nightingale, the black-bird and the Thrush Now tune their layes, on sprayes of every bush. The wanton frisking Kid, and soft-fleec'd Lambs Do jump and play before their feeding Dams, The tender tops of budding grass they crop, They joy in what they have, but more in hope: For though the frost hath lost his binding power, Yet many a fleece of snow and stormy shower Doth darken Sol's bright eye, makes us remember The pinching North-west wind of cold December. My second moneth is April, green and fair, Of longer dayes, and a more temperate Air: The Sun in Taurus keeps his residence, And with his warmer beams glanceth from thence This is the month whose fruitful showrs produces All set and sown for all delights and uses: The Pear, the Plum, and Apple-tree now flourish The grass grows long the hungry beast to nourish. The Primrose pale, and azure violet Among the virduous grass hath nature set, That when the Sun on's Love (the earth) doth shine These might as lace set out her garment fine. The fearfull bird his little house now builds In trees and walls, in Cities and in fields. The outside strong, the inside warm and neat; A natural Artificer compleat. The clocking hen her chirping chickins leads With wings & beak defends them from the gleads My next and last is fruitfull pleasant May, Wherein the earth is clad in rich aray, The Sun now enters loving Gemini, And heats us with the glances of his eye, Our thicker rayment makes us lay aside Lest by his fervor we be torrifi'd. All flowers the Sun now with his beams discloses, Except the double pinks and matchless Roses. Now swarms the busy, witty, honey-Bee, VVhose praise deserves a page from more then me The cleanly Huswifes Dary's now in th'prime, Her shelves and firkins fill'd for winter time. The meads with Cowslips, Honey-suckles dight, One hangs his head, the other stands upright: But both rejoyce at th'heavens clear smiling face, More at her showers, which water them a space. For fruits my Season yields the early Cherry, The hasty Peas, and wholsome cool Strawberry. More solid fruits require a longer time, Each Season hath his fruit, so hath each Clime: Each man his own peculiar excellence, But none in all that hath preheminence. Sweet fragrant Spring, with thy short pittance fly Let some describe thee better then can I. Yet above all this priviledg is thine, Thy dayes still lengthen without least decline: Summer. When Spring had done, the Summer did begin, With melted tauny face, and garments thin, Resembling Fire, Choler, and Middle age, As Spring did Air, Blood, Youth in's equipage. Wiping the sweat from of her face that ran, With hair all wet she puffing thus began; Bright June, July and August hot are mine, In'th first Sol doth in crabbed Cancer shine. His progress to the North now's fully done, Then retrograde must be my burning Sun, Who to his southward Tropick still is bent, Yet doth his parching heat but more augment Though he decline, because his flames so fair, Have throughly dry'd the earth, and heat the air. Like as an Oven that long time hath been heat, Whose vehemency at length doth grow so great, That if you do withdraw her burning store, Tis for a time as fervent as before. Now go those frolick Swains, the Shepherd Lads To wash the thick cloth'd flocks with pipes full glad In the cool streams they labour with