Heavenly lilies with lockerand toppis white
Opened, and shew their crestis redemite,
The balmy vapour from their silver croppis
Distilland wholesome sugared honey-droppis,
So that ilke burgeon, scion, herb, or flower
Wose all embalmed of the sweet liquore
And bathed did in dulce humoures flete
Whereof the beeis wrought their honey sweet.

GAWAIN Douglas, Bishop of Dunkeld. Burmckyn, barbican; pers, light blue; burnet, brownish: gules, scarlet ; fuuchcolour, fawn; celestial gre, sky-blue ; haw-waly, dark-waved; lite, little : flower. dumurs, damask rose ; rose-knobbis tetand, rose-buds peeping; kyth, show ; locherand, curling; redemite, crowned; croppis, heads.

ARRANGEMENTS OF A BOUQUET.

Here damask roses, white and red,

Out of my lap first take I,
Which still shall run along the thread

My chiefest flower this make I.

Among these roses in a row,

Next place I pinks in plenty,
These double pansies then for show,

And will not this be dainty?

The pretty pansy then I'll tie

Like stones some chain enchasing;
And next to them, their near ally,

The purple violet placing.

The curious choice clove July flower,

Whose kind hight the car
For sweetness of most sovereign power,

Shall help my wreath to fashion;

Whose sundry colors of one kind,

First from one root derived,
Them in their several suits I'll bind :

My garland so contrived.

A course of cowslips then I'll stick,

And here and there (so sparely)
The pleasant primrose down I'll prick,

Like pearls that will show rarely ;

Then with these marigolds I'll make

My garland somewhat swelling,
These honeysuckles then I'll take.

Whose sweets shall help their smelling.
The lily and the fleur-de-lis,

For color much contending,
For that I them do only prize,

They are but poor in scenting ;

The daffodil most dainty is,

To match with these in meetness;
The columbine compared to this,

All much alike for sweetness.

These in their natures only are

Fit to emboss the border,
Therefore I'll take especial care

To place them in their order :
Sweet-williams, campions, sops-in-wine,

One by another neatly :
Thus have I made this wreath of mine,
And finished it featly.

MICHAEL DRAYTON, 1563-1631.

Flying between the cold moon and the earth,
Cupid all arm’d; a certain aim he took
At a fair vestal throned in the west.
And loosed his love-shaft smartly from his bow,
As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts.
But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft
Quench'd in the chaste beams of the wat’ry moon.
And the imperial vot'ress passed on,
In maiden meditation, fancy-free.
Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell :
It fell upon a little western flower,
Before milk-white, now purple with love's wound,
And maidens call it love-in-idleness.
The juice of it, on sleeping eyelids laid,
Will make a man or woman madly dote
Upon the next live creature that it sees.

W. SHAKSPEARE, 1564-1616. THE GARLAND.

The pride of every grove I chose,

The violet sweet, the lily fair,
The dappled pink and blushing rose,

To deck my charming Chloe's hair.
At morn the nymph vouchsafed to place

Upon her brow the various wreath ;
The flowers less blooming than her face,

The scent less fragrant than her breath.

The flowers she wore along the day;

And every nymph and shepherd said, That in her hair they look'd more gay

Than glowing in their native bed. Undress'd at evening, when she found

Their odors lost, their colors past, She changed her look, and on the ground

Her garland and her eye she cast. That eye dropp'd sense distinct and clear,

As any Muse's tongue could speak, When from its lid a pearly tear

Ran trickling down her beauteous cheek. Dissembling what I knew too well,

“ My love, my life,” said I, “explain This change of humor; pr’ythee tell :

That falling tear-what does it mean?" She sigh’d; she smiled : and to the flowers

Pointing, the lovely moralist said-
See, friend, in some few fleeting hours,

See yonder, what a change is made !"
Ah me! the blooming pride of May,

And that of beauty, are but one: At morn both flourish bright and gay;

Both fade at evening, pale, and gone. At dawn poor Stella danced and sung,

The amorous youth around her bow'd : At night her fatal knell was rung;

I saw and kiss'd her in her shroud.