FEBRUARY

AH for pittie, wil ranke Winters rage,

These bitter blasts neuer ginne tasswage?

The kene cold blowes through my beaten hyde,

All as I were through the body gryde.

My ragged rontes all shiver and shake,

As doen high Towers in an earthquake:

They wont in the wind wagge their wrigle tailes,

Perke as Peacock: but nowe it auales.

Kene) sharpe. 

Gride) perced: an olde word much vsed of Lidgate, but not found (that I know of) in Chaucer.

 Ronts) young bullockes