The garden of love; flowers gathered from the poets . kiss you tis that you blow not: Mnid, the shut pink mouth opens never !For while it pouts, her fnigers wrestle. Twinkling the audacious leaves between,Till round they turn and down they nestle— Is not the dear mark still to be seen ? Where I find her not, beauties vanish ; Whither I follow her, beauties flee;Is there no method to tell her in Spanish Junes twice June since she breatlied it with me ?Come, bud, show me the least of her traces, Treasure my ladys lightest foot-fall !—Ah, you may flout and turn up your faces— Roses, you are not s
The garden of love; flowers gathered from the poets . kiss you tis that you blow not: Mnid, the shut pink mouth opens never !For while it pouts, her fnigers wrestle. Twinkling the audacious leaves between,Till round they turn and down they nestle— Is not the dear mark still to be seen ? Where I find her not, beauties vanish ; Whither I follow her, beauties flee;Is there no method to tell her in Spanish Junes twice June since she breatlied it with me ?Come, bud, show me the least of her traces, Treasure my ladys lightest foot-fall !—Ah, you may flout and turn up your faces— Roses, you are not so fair after all ! A^. Broiining. 120 VIII. Old-Fashioned Blossoms Old-iuorld Love-sonizs 121 VIII Duke, r^ FELLOW, come : the song we Imd last^ night,— Mark it, Cesario : it is old and plain :The spinsters and the knitters in the sun,And the free maids that Vv^eave their thread with use to chant it: it is silly sooth,And dallies with the innocence of LoveLike the old age. William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night. 122 ;|^.., /S:=-r;-Af^^. LXXVr. Since First I Saw Your Face ^ OINCE first I saw your face, I resolved^ To honour and renown now I be despised, I wish My heart had never known , I that loved and you that liked, Shall we begin to wrangle ?No, no, no, my heart is fast. And cannot disentangle. The sun, whose beams most glorious are, Rejoiceth all beholders :And your sweet beauty past compare Made my poor heart the beauty calls, and wit delights, And ties of kindness bind , oh there, whereer I go, I leave my heart behind me, Thomas Ford. The Garden of Love. 12^ LXXVII. Phillidcis Love-call to Ilcr Cory-don and His l\c[)lying J^ Jt Jf Phil. /^^ORVDON, arise my Corydoii, ^^-^ Iitiin shinelh Who is it that calleth Corydon, Who is it that I hear ?yV//7. lMiilh(hi thy true love calleth thee,Arise then, arise then, Arise and keep thy Hock with Phillida, my true love, is it she ?I come then, I come then, I come an
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