By a Gentleman of Cambridge. From mountains of eternal snow, And Zembla’s dreary plains; Where the bleak winds for ever blow And frost for ever reigns, Lo! Winter comes, in fogs array’d, With ice, and spangled dews; To dews, and fogs, and storms be paid The tribute of the Muse. Each flowery carpet Nature spread Is vanish’d from the eye; Where’er unhappy lovers tread, No Philomel is nigh. No blushing rose unfolds its bloom, No tender lilies blow, To scent the air with rich perfume, Or grace Lucinda’s brow. Th’ indulgent Father who protects The wretched and the poor; With the same gracious care directs The sparrow to our door. Dark, scowling tempests rend the skies, And clouds obscure the day; His genial warmth the sun denies, And sheds a fainter ray. Yet blame we not the troubled air, Or seek defects to find; For Power Omnipotent is there, And ‘walks upon the wind.’ Hail! every pair whom love unites In wedlock’s pleasing ties; That endless source of pure delights, That blessing to the wise! Though yon pale orb no warmth bestows, And storms united meet. The flame of love and friendship glows With unextinguish’d heat. ~November 1.~ All Saints.

Ode To Winter Monologue from Every Man in His Humour

Rehearse Ode To Winter's monologue