Although the last, not least.

When great leaves fall, the winter is at hand.

In right and service to their noble country.

See how she leans her cheek upon her hand. O, that I were a glove upon that hand That I might touch that cheek!

The lily I condemned for thy hand, And buds of marjoram had stol'n thy hair: The roses fearfully on thorns did stand, One blushing shame, another white despair; A third, nor red nor white, had stol'n of both And to his robbery had annex'd thy breath; But, for his theft, in pride of all his growth A vengeful canker eat him up to death. More flowers I noted, yet I none could see But sweet or colour it had stol'n from thee.

Fair thoughts and happy hours attend on you.

And send him many years of sunshine days!