Trifle

Benedick (looking out): 'Pon my soul, good Areolia, here glideth down the season's first snow flakes. Ah, Winter, thou cruel tyrant! That thy little army could'st fall so peacefully yet conquer so heavily and without mercy in such a short span of time confounds me! Thou despoils the despoilt countree-side with thy chill, blinding monochromaticity! And yet I despise thee not. Yes, Areolia, I will say as much. Winter, thou mercilessly makest a man shut himself indoors to 'gainst thy cold cruelty, but only to enjoy his fire, chair, pipe, brandy and wench (ogling Areolia) all the more. Ah, well, then, so be it! Pax in terra!
                                             - fragment from Hermetaecia (1793), Act III, Scene I
                                              by Edward Charles Wheybourne (1770-1832)


DB/c2004