Shakespeare, 28th November

            Methinks it were a happy life,

To be no better than a homely swain; .    .    .

His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle,

His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade,

All which secure and sweetly he enjoys,

Is far beyond a prince's delicates,    .    .   .

When care, mistrust, and treason waits on him.

                 Third Part of Kind Henry VI., Act ii., Sc. 5.