« PreviousContinue »
A TERNARY OF LITTLES,
UPON A PIPKIN OF JELLY SENT TO A LADY.
A LITTLE saint best fits a little shrine,
As my small cruse best fits my little wine.
A little seed best fits a little soil,
A little bin best fits a little bread,
A little hearth best fits a little fire,
A little stream best fits a little boat,
A little meat best fits a little belly,
As sweetly, Lady, give me leave to tell ye!
CEREMONIES FOR CANDLEMAS EVE.
Down with the Rosemary and Bays!
Down with the Mistletoe!
The greener Box, for show!
The Holly hitherto did sway;
Then youthful Box, which now hath grace
Grown old, surrender must his place
When Yew is out; then Birch comes in!
And many flowers beside,
Both of a fresh and fragrant kin,
To honour Whitsuntide.
Green Rushes then, and sweetest Bents,
With cooler Oaken boughs,
Come in, for comely ornaments
To re-adorn the house.
Thus times do shift! Each thing his turn does hold; New things succeed, as former things grow old!
MISTRESS ELIZABETH WHEELER,
UNDER THE NAME OF
THE LOST SHEPHERDESS.
AMONG the myrtles, as I walked, LOVE and my sighs thus intertalked. 'Tell me,' said I, in deep distress, 'Where I may find my Shepherdess?'
'Thou fool!' said LovE, 'know'st thou not this? In every thing that 's sweet, she is!
In yond Carnation, go and seek!
There, thou shalt find her lip and cheek!
In that enamelled Pansy by;
There, thou shalt have her curious eye!
I went to pluck them, one by one,
But, on a sudden, all were gone!
At which I stopped. Said LOVE, These be
The true resemblances of thee!
For, as these flowers, thy joys must die;
And in the turning of an eye!
And all thy hopes of her must wither,
COMFORT TO A YOUTH,
THAT HAD LOST HIS LOVE.
WHAT needs complaints?
In endless mirth;
She sees no tears!
Or any tone
Of thy deep groan
Nor does She mind,
That ever thou
But changed above;
She likes not there,
Thy woes! and weep
FAIR daffadils! we weep to see
As yet the early-rising sun
Has not attained his noon!
Until the hasting day
But to the Even Song!
We have short time to stay, as you!
As your hours do! and dry
Like to the Summer's rain!
Or as the pearls of Morning's dew, Ne'er to be found again!