Act I, Scene 97

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• Shakespeare. How like a winter hath my absence been 1345
  From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
  What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!
  What old December's bareness every where!
  And yet this time removed was summer's time,
  The teeming autumn, big with rich increase, 1350
  Bearing the wanton burden of the prime,
  Like widow'd wombs after their lords' decease:
  Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me
  But hope of orphans and unfather'd fruit;
  For summer and his pleasures wait on thee, 1355
  And, thou away, the very birds are mute;
  Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer
  That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near.