Part 22

Frolic virgins once these were, Overloving, living here; Being here their ends denied Ran for sweet-hearts mad, and died. Love, in pity of their tears, And their loss in blooming years, For their restless here-spent hours, Gave them hearts-ease turn'd to flowers.

194. WHY FLOWERS CHANGE COLOUR

These fresh beauties, we can prove, Once were virgins, sick of love, Turn'd to flowers: still in some, Colours go and colours come.

195. THE PRIMROSE

Ask me why I send you here This sweet Infanta of the year? Ask me why I send to you This Primrose, thus bepearl'd with dew? I will whisper to your ears,-- The sweets of love are mixt with tears.

Ask me why this flower does show So yellow-green, and sickly too? Ask me why the stalk is weak And bending, yet it doth not break? I will answer,--these discover What fainting hopes are in a lover.

196. TO PRIMROSES FILLED WITH MORNING DEW

Why do ye weep, sweet babes? can tears Speak grief in you, Who were but born just as the modest morn Teem'd her refreshing dew? Alas, you have not known that shower That mars a flower, Nor felt th' unkind Breath of a blasting wind, Nor are ye worn with years; Or warp'd as we, Who think it strange to see, Such pretty flowers, like to orphans young, To speak by tears, before ye have a tongue.

Speak, whimp'ring younglings, and make known The reason why Ye droop and weep; Is it for want of sleep, Or childish lullaby? Or that ye have not seen as yet The violet? Or brought a kiss From that Sweet-heart, to this? --No, no, this sorrow shown By your tears shed, Would have this lecture read, That things of greatest, so of meanest worth, Conceived with grief are, and with tears brought forth.

197. TO DAISIES, NOT TO SHUT SO SOON

Shut not so soon; the dull-eyed night Has not as yet begun To make a seizure on the light, Or to seal up the sun.

No marigolds yet closed are, No shadows great appear; Nor doth the early shepherds' star Shine like a spangle here.

Stay but till my Julia close Her life-begetting eye; And let the whole world then dispose Itself to live or die.

198. TO DAFFADILS

Fair Daffadils, we weep to see You haste away so soon; As yet the early-rising sun Has not attain'd his noon. Stay, stay, Until the hasting day Has run But to the even-song; And, having pray'd together, we Will go with you along.

We have short time to stay, as you; We have as short a spring; As quick a growth to meet decay, As you, or any thing. We die As your hours do, and dry Away, Like to the summer's rain; Or as the pearls of morning's dew, Ne'er to be found again.

199. TO VIOLETS

Welcome, maids of honour, You do bring In the Spring; And wait upon her.

She has virgins many, Fresh and fair; Yet you are More sweet than any.

You're the maiden posies; And so graced, To be placed 'Fore damask roses.

--Yet, though thus respected, By and by Ye do lie, Poor girls, neglected.

200. THE APRON OF FLOWERS

To gather flowers, Sappha went, And homeward she did bring Within her lawny continent, The treasure of the Spring.

She smiling blush'd, and blushing smiled, And sweetly blushing thus, She look'd as she'd been got with child By young Favonius.

Her apron gave, as she did pass, An odour more divine, More pleasing too, than ever was The lap of Proserpine.

201. THE LILY IN A CRYSTAL

You have beheld a smiling rose When virgins' hands have drawn O'er it a cobweb-lawn: And here, you see, this lily shows, Tomb'd in a crystal stone, More fair in this transparent case Than when it grew alone, And had but single grace.

You see how cream but naked is, Nor dances in the eye Without a strawberry; Or some fine tincture, like to this, Which draws the sight thereto, More by that wantoning with it, Than when the paler hue No mixture did admit.