What! shall those flowers that deck'd thy garland erst,
Upon thy grave be wastefully dispersed?
O trees, consume your sap in sorrow's source,
Streams turn to tears your tributary course.
Go not yet hence, bright soul of the sad year,
The earth is hell when thou leav'st to appear.

[The Satyrs and Wood-nymphs go out singing, and leave_
SUMMER _and_ WINTER _and_ AUTUMN _on the stage_.

WILL SUM. A couple of pretty boys, if they would wash their faces, and
were well breech'd[23] in an hour or two. The rest of the green men
have reasonable voices, good to sing catches or the great _Jowben_ by
the fire's side in a winter's evening. But let us hear what Summer can
say for himself, why he should not be hiss'd at.

SUM. What pleasure always lasts? no joy endures:
Summer I am; I am not what I was;
Harvest and age have whiten'd my green head;
On Autumn now and Winter I must lean.
Needs must he fall, whom none but foes uphold,
Thus must the happiest man have his black day.
_Omnibus una manet nox, et calcanda semel via lethi_.[24]
This month have I lain languishing a-bed,
Looking each hour to yield my life and throne;
And died I had indeed unto the earth,
But that Eliza, England's beauteous Queen,
On whom all seasons prosperously attend,
Forbad the execution of my fate,
Until her joyful progress was expir'd.[25]