But with me, wretch, the storms of woe persever,
And heavy sighs which from my heart she straineth,
That took the key thereof to heaven for ever;
So that the singing of birds and springtime's flow'ring,
And ladies' love that men's affection gaineth,
Are like a desert and cruel beasts devouring.

364.

Here Lies the Blithe Spring

ERE lies the blithe Spring,

HERE

Who first taught birds to sing,

Yet in April herself fell a-crying:
Then May growing hot,

A sweating sickness she got,

And the first day of June lay a-dying.

Yet no month can say,

But her merry daughter May

Anon.

Stuck her coffins with flowers great plenty:

The cuckoo sung in verse

An epitaph o'er her hearse,

But assure you the lines were not dainty.

T. Dekker

365. Look, Delia, How We Esteem the

L

Half-Blown Rose

OOK, Delia, how we 'steem the half-blown rose,

The image of thy blush and summer's honour,
Whilst in her tender green she doth inclose
That pure, sweet beauty Time bestows upon her.

No sooner spreads her glory to the air,

But straight her full-blown pride is in declining;
She then is scorned that late adorned the fair:
So clouds thy beauty, after fairest shining.
No April can revive thy withered flowers,
Whose blooming grace adorns thy glory now;
Swift, speedy Time, feathered with flying hours,
Dissolves the beauty of the fairest brow.

O let not then such riches waste in vain,
But love, whilst that thou may'st be loved again.

S. Daniel

366.

The Rose

A ROSE, as fair as ever saw the North,

Grew in a little garden all alone;

A sweeter flower did Nature ne'er put forth,
Nor fairer garden yet was never known:
The maidens danced about it morn and noon,
And learned bards of it their ditties made;
The nimble fairies by the pale-faced moon
Water'd the root and kiss'd her pretty shade.
But well-a-day!— the gardener careless grew;
The maids and fairies both were kept away,
And in a drought the caterpillars threw
Themselves upon the bud and every spray.

God shield the stock! If heaven send no supplies,
The fairest blossom of the garden dies.

W. Browne

BLOWN in the morning, thou shalt fade ere noon.

What boots a life which in such haste forsakes thee? Thou'rt wondrous frolic, being to die so soon,

And passing proud a little colour makes thee.

If thee thy brittle beauty so deceives,

Know then the thing that swells thee is thy bane;
For the same beauty doth, in bloody leaves,

The sentence of thy early death contain.

Some clown's coarse lungs will poison thy sweet flower,

If by the careless plough thou shalt be torn;
And many Herods lie in wait each hour

To murder thee as soon as thou art born

Nay, force thy bud to blow their tyrant breath
Anticipating life, to hasten death!

Sir R. Fanshawe

368.

FAIR

Fair Is the Rose

AIR is the rose, yet fades with heat or cold;
Sweet are the violets, yet soon grow old;
The lily's white, yet in one day 'tis done;
White is the snow, yet melts against the sun:
So white, so sweet, was my fair mistress' face,
Yet altered quite in one short hour's space:
So short-lived beauty a vain gloss doth borrow,
Breathing delight to-day but none to-morrow.

Anon.

369. Sweet Rose, Whence Is This Hue?

WEET rose, whence is this hue

SWE

Which doth all hues excel?

Whence this most fragrant smell?

And whence this form and gracing grace in you?
In fair Paestana's fields perhaps you grew,
Or Hybla's hills you bred,

Or odoriferous Enna's plains you fed,

Or Tmolus, or where boar young Adon slew;
Or hath the Queen of Love you dyed of new
In that dear blood, which makes you look so red?
No, none of those, but cause more high you blissed,
My lady's breast you bore, her lips you kissed.
W. Drummond

370. The Blushing Rose and Purple Flower

THE

`HE blushing rose and purple flower,
Let grow too long, are soonest blasted!

Dainty fruits, though sweet, will sour,
And rot in ripeness, left untasted!

Yet here is one more sweet than these:
The more you taste, the more She'll please!

Beauty, though inclosed with ice,

Is a shadow chaste as rare;

Then, how much those sweets entice,

That have issue full as fair!

Earth cannot yield from all her powers,

One equal for Dame Venus' bowers!

P. Massinger

371.

372.

The Funeral Rites of the Rose

THE Rose was sick and smiling died;
And, being to be sanctified,

About the bed there sighing stood
The sweet and flowery sisterhood:

Some hung the head, while some did bring,

To wash her, water from the spring;
Some laid her forth, while others wept,

But all a solemn fast there kept:
The holy sisters, some among,
The sacred dirge and trental sung.
But ah! what sweets smelt everywhere,
As Heaven had spent all perfumes there.
At last, when prayers for the dead
And rites were all accomplished,
They, weeping, spread a lawny loom,
And closed her up as in a tomb.

CLEAR

A Summer's Day

R. Herrick

LEAR had the day been from the dawn,
All chequer'd was the sky,

The clouds, like scarfs of cobweb lawn,
Veil'd heaven's most glorious eye.

The wind had no more strength than this,
That leisurely it blew -

To make one leaf the next to kiss

That closely by it grew.