Whose breast has all the wealth I have, Unknown. XXIV. THE WILLOW TREE. WILLY. How now, shepherd, what means that? Why thy scarfs of red and yellow, CUDDY. They are changed, and so am I; Which makes me wear the willow-tree. WILLY. Phillis! she that loved thee long? CUDDY. She that long true love profest, She hath robb'd my heart of rest: For she a new love loves, not me; Which makes me wear the willow-tree. WILLY. Come then, shepherd, let us join, Since thy hap is like to mine: CUDDY. Thy hard hap doth mine appease, Yet, Phillis, shall I pine for thee, WILLY. Shepherd, be advised by me, CUDDY. Herdsman, I'll be ruled by thee, Unknown. XXV. THE INQUIRY. AMONGST the myrtles as I walk'd, "Thou fool," said Love, "know'st thou not this, In every thing that's good, she is? In yonder tulip go and seek, There thou may'st find her lip, her cheek; In yon enamell'd pansy by, There thou shalt have her curious eye; There wave the streamers of her blood; C With that I stopt. Said Love, “these be, And as these flowers, thy joy shall die, And all thy hopes of her shall wither, Like these short sweets thus knit together." Thomas Carew. XXVI. A DIALOGUE BETWEEN HIMSELF AND MISTRESS ELIZA WHEELER, NAME OF AMARILLIS. UNDER THE (H.) My dearest love, since thou wilt go, And leave me here behind thee; For love or pity, let me know The place where I may find thee. (A.) In country meadows, pearl'd with dew, There, filling maunds with cowslips, you (H.) What have the meads to do with thee, Live thou at Court, where thou may'st be Let country wenches make 'em fine (A.) You set too high a rate upon (H.) Believe it, dearest, there's not one I prithee stay. (A.) I must away; (AMBO.) And tho' we bid adieu to-day, Robert Herrick. XXVII. THE PRIMROSE. Ask me why I send you here This primrose all bepearl'd with dew; The sweets of love are wash'd with tears ;- So yellow, green, and sickly too; What doubts and fears are in a lover. Thomas Carew. XXVIII. THE SHEPHERD'S DESCRIPTION OF LOVE. "SHEPHERD, what's love? I pray thee, tell!"— It is that fountain, and that well, Where pleasure and repentance dwell; It is, perhaps, that passing bell That tolls us all to heaven or hell; And this is love, as I heard tell. "Yet, what is love? I pray thee, say!"— It is December match'd with May, When lusty woods, in fresh array, Hear, ten months after, of the play; And this is love, as I hear say. "Yet, what is love? good shepherd, saine !"- It is a tooth-ache, or like pain; It is a game where none doth gain, The lass saith, No, and would full fain! 66 "Yet, shepherd, what is love, I pray?”— A pretty kind of sporting fray; Then, nymphs, take vantage while ye may, "Yet, what is love? good shepherd, show!"— Sir Walter Raleigh. XXIX. TO HIS MISTRESS OBJECTING TO HIS NEITHER TOYING NOR TALKING. You say I love not, 'cause I do not play Deep waters noiseless are; and this we know, XXX. Ask me no more where Jove bestows, |