TO BLOSSOMS FAIR pledges of a fruitful tree, What! were ye born to be An hour or half's delight, But you are lovely leaves, where we TO DAFFODILS FAIR daffodils, we weep to see Has not attained his noon : Stay, stay, Until the hast'ning day But to the even-song; And having prayed together, we Will go with you along! We have short time to stay as you; As quick a growth to meet decay, As your hours do; and dry Like to the summer's rain, JULIA SOME asked me where the rubies grew, But with my finger pointed to The lips of Julia. Some asked how pearls did grow, and where, To part her lips, and show me there One asked me where the roses grew, But forthwith bade my Julia shew TO THE VIRGINS, TO MAKE MUCH OF THEIR TIME GATHER the rose-buds while ye may, And this same flower that smiles to-day, The glorious lamp of heaven, the Sun, The sooner will his race be run, That age is best which is the first, Then be not coy, but use your time, TWELFTH NIGHT, OR KING AND QUEEN Now, now the mirth comes, With the cake full of plums, Where bean's the king of the sport here; Beside, we must know, The pea also Must revel as queen in the court here. Begin then to choose, Who shall for the present delight here; And who shall not Be Twelfth-day queen for the night here. Which known, let us make And let not a man then be seen here, To the base from the brink, A health to the king and the queen here. Next crown the bowl full And thus ye must do To make the wassail a swinger. Give them to the king And though with ale ye be wet here; As free from offence, As when ye innocent met here. THE BAG OF THE BEE ABOUT the sweet bag of a bee, And whose the pretty prize should be, Which Venus hearing, thither came, Which done, to still their wanton cries, When quiet grown she'ad seen them, She kissed and wiped their dove-like eyes And gave the bag between them. A THANKSGIVING FOR HIS HOUSE LORD, Thou hast given me a cell A little house, whose humble roof Under the spars of which I lie Where Thou, my chamber for to ward, Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep H Low is my porch, as is my fate, And yet the threshold of my door Who hither come, and freely get Like as my parlour, so my hall, A little buttery, and therein Which keeps my little loaf of bread Some brittle sticks of thorn or brier Close by whose living coal I sit, Lord, I confess, too, when I dine And all those other bits that be The worts, the purslain, and the mess Which of Thy kindness Thou hast sent: Makes those, and my beloved beet, 'Tis Thou that crown'st my glittering hearth With guiltless mirth; And giv'st me wassail bowls to drink, Lord, 'tis Thy plenty-dropping hand All this, and better, dost Thou send That I should render for my part Which, fired with incense, I resign But the acceptance-that must be, |