(Poem #611) Winter
When icicles hang by the wall And Dick the shepherd blows his nail And Tom bears logs into the hall And milk comes frozen home in pail, When blood is nipp'd and ways be foul, Then nightly sings the staring owl, Tu-whit; Tu-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. When all aloud the wind doth blow And coughing drowns the parson's saw And birds sit brooding in the snow And Marian's nose looks red and raw, When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, Then nightly sings the staring owl, Tu-whit; Tu-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
From "Love's Labours Lost", Act V, Scene ii. The weather has suddenly taken a turn for the colder here in Tokyo; also, just yesterday I was watching the Elizabethan series of Blackadder . The combination made the choice of today's poem irresistible... thomas.  "For many people under 35, their most vivid glimpses of Britain's illustrious history have been through the Blackadder chronicles which brightened television screens from 1983 to 1989. Their constantly reborn protagonist, Edmund Blackadder, flounced through a bloody Middle Ages, a campy Elizabethan court, even camper Regency revels, and the rat-infested trenches of the Great War, armed with only his repulsive servant Baldrick, and a fine line in complex insults ." -- [broken link] http://home.clara.net/paulm/blackadder.html  For example: "you would bore the leggings off a village idiot" and "he's got a brain the size of a weasel's wedding tackle"; a complete set of Blackadder transcripts is available at [broken link] http://www.xmission.com/~tchansen/blackadder/bl-scripts.htm