The bashful earthquake & other fables and verses . yeAnd told hys tale — And from thatte dayeIt hath been writ that anye manneMay blamelesse kiss what mayde he canneNor any one shall say hym no .Beneath the holye mistletoe. 53 HYDE AND SEEKE. One day beneathe a willowe tree, Love met a mayde moste faire to see;^ Come play at hyde and seeke/^ cried alle my hearte ! — quoth she. I m it! Love cries, and rounde hys eyes A scarfe the maiden bindeth,And inne and oute and rounde aboute Ye willowe trees he windeth — Yette neer the maiden findeth. Stille inne and oute and rounde aboute. And sti
The bashful earthquake & other fables and verses . yeAnd told hys tale — And from thatte dayeIt hath been writ that anye manneMay blamelesse kiss what mayde he canneNor any one shall say hym no .Beneath the holye mistletoe. 53 HYDE AND SEEKE. One day beneathe a willowe tree, Love met a mayde moste faire to see;^ Come play at hyde and seeke/^ cried alle my hearte ! — quoth she. I m it! Love cries, and rounde hys eyes A scarfe the maiden bindeth,And inne and oute and rounde aboute Ye willowe trees he windeth — Yette neer the maiden findeth. Stille inne and oute and rounde aboute. And stille no maiden meetinge ;Till, piqued, ye rogue unbinds hys eyes,And, perched upon a branch, espies Ye mayde retreatinge;Fie! Eie! ^ cries Love— you re cheetinge ! Now, you, quothe he, must seeke for me V She binds her eyes, inne and oute and rounde aboute, Seeks she for Love relentinge — But Love, they say — alas, ye day !Has spread his wings and flown away, And left ye mayde lamentinge. And left ye mayde repentinge. 54. IN THE CAFE. I p. M. He sits before me as I write, And talks of this and that,And all my thoughts are put to flight By his infernal came to write a tender rhyme To Phyllis or to Mabel,And chose in this retired cafe The most secluded came before I d time to fly, And ere I could refuse,55 Had filled the very chair that IWas keeping for the muse ! Then came the deluge — down it cameIn one unceasing pour — Of science, crops, photography,E-eligion, soups, and war. — Forsooth the flood of words that flows From this secluded tableWill soon be great enough to swamp A dozen towers of — And still he stays, and still the flood Is rising as before;3 — The world is now a sea of — Without a sign of shore. Great Scott! Hes going! ^ No, must you go ? DonH tear yourself away !What have I written? Oh, some trash — A sort of Fairy-lay,Of how a dreadful ogre Caught a luckless youth one day,And drown
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