VII. NO LOATHSOMENESS IN LOVE. WHAT I fancy I approve, Be her cheeks so shallow too, She's to me a paragon, VIII. THE WEEPING CHERRY. I saw a cherry weep, and why? But, pretty fondling, let not fall A tear at all for that, Which rubies, corals, scarlets, all, For tincture, wonder at. POEM VII.] Might not the ingenious author of The Duenna have had his eye upon this composition of Her rick's, when he wrote that sprightly song: Give Isaac the nymph who no beauty can boast, But health and good humour, to make her his toast, &c.? IX. THE CARCANET. INSTEAD of orient pearls, of jet About her spotless neck she knit X. HOW THE WALLFLOWER CAME FIRST, AND WHY this flow'r is now call'd so, List, sweet maids, and you shall know. Once a brisk and bonny lass, *The carcanet was a gold, or other ornamental chain, worn round the neck, Carcan originally signified an iron collar to confine malefactors to a post. Nicot, in his Grand Dic tionaire, defines it, ornement d'or qu'on mist au col des demoiselles. XI. TO HIS MISTRESS OBJECTING TO HIM NEITHER TOYING, OR TALKING. You say I love not, 'cause I do not play The most I love, when I the least express it! Deep waters noiseless are; and this we know, XII. UPON THE LOSS OF HIS MISTRESSES. I have lost, and lately, these Many dainty mistresses; Stately Julia, prime of all; Sappho next, a principal; Smooth Anthea, for a skin White, and heaven-like crystalline; * This sportive conceit was imagined perhaps before, and certainly since Herrick wrote. See where little Cupid lies, DRAYTON.. Thus in our looks some propagation lies, For we make babies in each others eyes. LITTLE, alias MOORE. Sweet Electra; and the choice Their departures hence, and die. XIII. THE DREAM. METHOUGHT, last night Love in an anger came, And brought a rod, so whipp'd me with the same ; And strok'd the stripes, and I was whole again. XIV. ON HIMSELF. YOUNG I was, but now am old, But I am not yet grown cold; XV. LOVE'S PLAY AT PUSHPIN. LOVE and myself, believe me, on a day At childish pushpin, for our sport, did play: I put, he push'd, and, heedless of my skin, Love prick'd my finger with a golden pin; Since which it festers so, that I can prove 'Twas but a trick to poison me with love: Little the wound was, greater was the smart; The finger bled, but burnt was all my heart. XVI. THE ROSARY. ONE ask'd me where the roses grew? 1 bade him not go seek; A bud in either cheek. UPON CUPID. OLD wives have often told, how they And thereupon, in tears half drown'd, |